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ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH: 

A  Collection  of  Poems,  Stories,  and  Historical 
Sketches  by  the  Graduate  and  Under- 
graduate Writers  of 

B^rtmoutft  College 


''For  aught  I  know,  ^Icwos  of  Dertjmvu,th^y'j  'j   >  i    ^ 


EDITED   BY 

H.  J.  HAPGOOD,  '96 
CRAVEN  LAYCOCK,  '96 


HANOVER,  N.  H. 
MDCCCXCV. 


C.  M,  STONE  &  CO. 

ST.   JOHNSBURY,    VT. 

PRINTERS. 


CONTENTS. 


Pagr 

Men  of  Dartmouth.    Richard  Hovey,  '85      ...  11 
The  Dartmouth  Buildings  in  1803. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96    .  13 

My  Choice.    H.  S.  Baketel,  D.  M.  C. 16 

A  Championship  Song.    E.  O.  Grover,  '94  ...    .  17 

Freshman:  Homesick.    G.  A.  Green, '98 18 

Clarkson,  Right  Guard.    H.  C.  Pearson,  '93    .    .  19 

To  the  Connecticut  River.    W.  B.  Plumer,  '96    .  24 

"  Gaudet  Tentamine  Virtus."    W.  F.  Gregory,  '88  25 

Among  the  Hills.    R.  Hovey,  '85 27 

Dartmouth  in  England.    C.  T.  Gallagher,  Hon.  '93  28 
The  Dartmouth  Buildings  about  1835. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96    .  33 

In  Senior  Days.    H.  C.  Pearson,  '93 35 

The  Reason  Why.    J.  W.  Bishop,  '95 39 

The  Old  and  New.    E.  O.  Grover,  '94 40 

A  Dartmouth  Invention.    N.  L.  Foster,  '96  ...  41 

To  A  Withered  Mayflower.    F.  V.  Bennis,  '98    .  42 
Sanborn  Hall  Dutring  Reign  of  Terror  of 

1894-1895.    C.  N.  McCall, '98    .  43 

Out  with  the  Tide.    H.  S.  Baketel,  D.  M.  C.     .    .  47 

Renewal.    O.  S.  Davis,  '89 53 

The  Campus.    F.  H.  Swift, '98    .    .    .  • 54 

The  Student's  Vision.    F.  H.  Noyes,  '97   ...    .  55 


9^264 


ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

After  Sunset.    O.  S.  Davis,  '89 56 

Thetford  Sketches.    E.  O.  Grover,  '94    ....  58 
From  the  Ruins  of  the  Old  Pine. 

F.  L.  Pattee,  '88    .  62 

Mount  Desert  from  the  Sea.    A.  0.  Caswell,  '93  .  63 

The  Old  Pine.    LeB.  M.  Huntington,  '98  ...    .  64 
The  Dartmouth  Buildings  in  1851. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96  65 

The  Way  it  Feels.    G.  A.  Green,  '98 67 

Pastels  in  Prose.    E.  O.  Grover,  '94 68 

Farewell.    K.  Knowlton,  '94 70 

With  the  Dawning.    H.  C.  Pearson,  '93    ...    .  71 

To  an  Honored  Cane.    W.  D.  Quint,  '87    ...    .  75 

AscuTNEY.    W.  B.  Plumer,  '96 76 

The  Old  Snowshoes.    P.  E.  Stanley,  '93  ...    .  77 

His  Decision.    I.  J.  Cox,  '96 79 

The  Ocean.    W.  A.  Foster,  '95 83 

First  Historian  of  American  Literature. 

C.  F.  Richardson,  '71    .  84 

To-morrow.    W.  D.  Spencer,  '95 87 

Arnaut  DE  Marueil.    J.  H.  Smith, '77 88 

The  Undecided  Bet.    B.  C.  Taylor,  '97     ...    .  90 

May  Musings.    H.  B.  Metcalf,  '93 94 

The  Dartmouth  Buildings  at  Present. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96    .  95 

The  Old  Pine.    W.  B.  Plumer, '96 97 

The  Old  Pine.    L.  S.  Cox,  '96 98 

To  Our  Alma  Mater.    K.  Knowlton,  '94  ....  101 

At  Twilight.    LeB.  M.  Huntington, '98    ....  102 

A  Turkey  Feather.    N.  L.  Foster,  '96 103 

Memories  OF  Horace.    F.  L.  Pattee, '88  ....  106 


CONTENTS 


98 


Pledging  a  Freshman.    C.  N.  McCall,  ' 
A  Glance.    H.  B.  Metcalf,  '93     .    .    . 
The  Old  Clock.    W.  D.  Spencer,  '95  . 
A  Nocturne.    LeB.  M.  Huntington,  '98 
A  Question  of  Ethics.    R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96 
What  Care  I?    H.  S.  Baketel,  D.  M.  C.    . 
Apple  Blossoms.    I.  J.  Cox,  '96      .    .    . 
John  Freeman.    S.  R.  Moulton, '98    .    . 
Dartmouth  Hall  Speaks.    F.  V.  Bennis, 
A  College  Picture.    J.  H.  Bartlett,  '94 
"WooDiN'  Up."    G.  a.  Green,  '98     :    .    . 
An  Experience  with  the  Rho  Kap's. 

B.  C.  Taylor,  '97 

Chapel  Bell.    G.  A.  Green,  '98 

The  New  Quadrangle.    R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96  .    . 

"Good  Work."    G.  A.  Green, '98 

Drifting  Song.  K.  Knowlton,  '94  ..... 
A  Dartmouth  Song.  G.  C.  Selden,  '93  .  .  .  . 
An  Incident  in  College  Life.    N.  L.  Foster,  '96 

To  A  Robin.    F.  L.  Pattee,  '88 

The  Tower.    F.  V.  Bennis,  '98 

The  Tower.    F.  H.  Swift,  '98 

Love's  Roses.    W.  F.  Gregory,  '88 

A  Table  of  Dartmouth  Buildings. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96 


107 
112 
113 
114 
115 
119 
120 
121 
123 
124 
126 

127 
131 
132 
134 
135 
136 
137 
141 
142 
144 
145 

146 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Facing  Page 

Dartmouth  Castle  and  Harbor.    Frontispiece    .  11 

The  Dartmouth  Buildings  in  1803 13 

The  Connecticut 24 

The  Dartmouth  Buildings  about  1835     ....  33 

Falls  of  the  Connecticut 58 

The  Dartmouth  Buildings  in  1851 65 

The  Main  Group  of  the  Dartmouth 

Buildings  in  1895    .  95 

The  Old  Pine 98 

Old  Dartmouth  Hall 123 

The  New  Quadrangle 132 

The  Tower 142 


PORTRAITS. 

Facing  Pagb 

Richard  Hoyey,  '85 16 

Charles  T.  Gallagher,  Hon.  '93 28 

Harlan  Colby  Pearson,  '93 35 

Edwin  Osgood  Grover,  '94 40 

Frederic  Vucassoyich  Bennis,  '98 42 

Harrie  Sheridan  Baketel,  D.  M.  C 47 

Fletcher  Harper  Swift,  '98 54 

Fred  Lewhs  Pattee,  '88 62 

Kent  Knowlton,  '94 70 

Wilder  Dwight  Quint,  '87 75 

William  Blaisdell  Plumer,  '96 76 

Isaac  Joslin  Cox,  '96 79 

Charles  Francis  Richardson,  '71 84 

Wilbur  Daniel  Spencer,  '95 87 

Burpee  Caldwell  Taylor,  '97 90 

Louis  Sherburne  Cox,  '96 100 

Nathaniel  Ladd  Foster,  '96 103 

Charles  Nicholas  McCall,  '98 107 

Harry  Bingham  Metcalf,  '93 112 

LeBarron  Monroe  Huntington,  '98 114 

Sherman  Roberts  Moulton,  '98 121 

John  Henry'  Bartlett,  '94 124 

George  Abbott  Green,  '98 134 

Warren  Fenno  Gregory,  '98  . 145 

Robert  Huntington  Fletcher,  '96 146 


Introduction. 

COLLEGE  life  is  full  of  sentiment.  If  a  man  is  not 
^  aware  of  this  fact  while  in  college,  he  finds  himself 
awakening  more  and  more  to  the  meaning  of  it  as  the 
years  go  by.  The  constant  return  of  a  graduate,  in  per- 
son or  in  heart,  to  his  college,  shows  the  force  of  the 
spell  which  is  upon  him.  Alumni  gatherings,  which  are 
becoming  so  large  a  part  of  academic  life,  are  simply 
the  tribute  to  college  sentiment.  These  gatherings  offer 
the  occasion  for  the  discussion  of  educational,  and  even 
public,  questions,  but  they  are  the  spontaneous  out- 
growth of  a  fellowship,  which  has  but  one  origin,  and 
which  dan  have  no  equivalent.  I  doubt  if  all  other 
agencies  and  influences  combined  are  contributing  as 
much  to  produce  that  fine  sentiment,  the  tone  and  color 
so  conspicuously  lacking  in  American  society,  as  our 
colleges  and  universities. 

College  sentiment  has  its  literature.  Apart  from  the 
well-worn  reminiscence,  or  the  familiar  song,  it  finds  con- 
stant expression  in  story  and  verse.  College  literature 
is  not  a  matter  of  subject,  but  of  atmosphere.  Love, 
duty,  adventure,  the  humor  of  life  and  its  pathos,  are 
the  common  property  of  the  imagination,  but  every 
truest  thing  which  is  told  or  sung,  is  apt  to  betray  its 
locality-.  That  is  one  mark  of  its  genuineness.  This 
volume  of  "Echoes  From  Dartmouth,"  which  takes  its 


INTRODUCTION  9 

place  beside  others  of  like  nature  which  have  gone  out 
from  the  College,  will  prove,  I  trust,  no  exception  to  the 
literary  canon  which  has  been  recalled.  I  ha*ve  seen 
little  of  its  contents,  for  the  volume  is  in  press  as  I 
write  this  brief  word  of  introduction,  but  the  list  of 
writers  and  of  subjects,  which  is  before  me,  insures  a 
natural  and  pleasing  variety.  "Men  of  Dartmouth," 
by  Richard  Hovey,  breathes  in  every  line  the  spirit  of 
the  old  College.  It  is  a  tribute  and  a  challenge  to  the 
men  who  "  keep  the  still  North  in  their  hearts."  *'  Dart- 
mouth in  England,"  by  Charles  T.  Gallagher,  repro- 
duces the  delightful  impression  which  the  sketch  made, 
as  given  bj''  the  author  in  the  Old  Chapel  on  the 
"Dartmouth  Evening,"  September  17,  1895.  "The 
Buildings  of  Dartmouth,  bj^  Robert  Fletcher,  brings  to 
light,  through  careful  research,  a  great  deal  of  informa- 
tion w^hich  -was  in  danger  of  passing  out  of  reach,  which 
had,  in  fact,  passed  out  of  the  knowledge  of  many  of 
those  most  familiar  with  the  material  history  of  the 
College.  For  the  general  selections  made,  and  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  volume,  much  can  be  assumed  from 
the  industry-  and  taste  of  the  Editors,  Herbert  J.  Hap- 
good  and  Craven  Laycock,  of  the  present  Senior  Class 
—the  Class  of '96. 

WILLIAM  J.  TUCKER. 
Dartmouth  College,  November  11,  1895. 


-bcr)0es  •  p0iT)  -  B(a]?fir)0ul'^'. 


Men  of  Dartmouth. 

pA  EN  of  Dartmouth,  give  a  rouse 
(§)        For  the  college  on  the  hill ! 
For  the  Lone  Pine  above  her 
And  the  loyal  men  that  love  her,  — 
Give  a  rouse,  give  a  rouse,  with  a  will ! 
For  the  sons  of  old  Dartmouth, 
The  sturdy  sons  of  Dartmouth  — 
Though  'rotmd  the  girdled  earth  they  roam, 

Her  spell  on  them  remains ; 
They  have  the  still  North  in  their  hearts. 

The  hill-w^inds  in  their  veins. 
And  the  granite  of  New  Hampshire 
In  their  muscles  and  their  brains. 


12  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

• 

They  were  miglity  men  of  old 

That  she  nurtured  side  by  side ; 
Till  like  Vikings  they  went  forth 
From  the  lone  and  silent  North,— 
.  .  •  ,.4n4  they  strove,  and  they  wrought,  and  they  died ; 

:  •»••  '^BPut— the  sons  of  old  Dartmouth, 
,  .     .    ^Thejaurelled  sons  of  Dartmouth— 
;  I  ^  t'hV-Mo^her  keeps  them  in  her  heart, 
And  guards  their  altar-flame ; 
The  still  North  remembers  them. 

The  hill- winds  know  their  name. 
And  the  granite  of  New  Hampshire 
Keeps  the  record  of  their  fame. 

Men  of  Dartmouth,  set  a  watch 

Lest  the  old  traditions  fail ! 
Stand  as  brother  stands  by  brother ! 
Dare  a  deed  for  the  old  Mother! 
Greet  the  world,  from  the  hills,  with  a  hail! 
For  the  sons  of  old  Dartmouth, 
The  loj^al  sons  of  Dartmouth  — 
Around  the  world  they  keep  tor  her 

Their  old  chivalric  faith ; 
They  have  the  still  North  in  their  soul, 

The  hill- winds  in  their  breath ; 

And  the  granite  of  New  Hampshire 

Is  made  part  of  them  till  death. 

R.  HoYEY,  '85. 


3  W 

»  3* 


3  •  »♦ 

5 
>  3  3* 


THE  DARTMOUTH  BUILDINGS  IN  1803  13 


The  Dartmouth  Buildings  in  1803. 

TT  would  be  difficult  for  any  of  the  later  alumni  or 
students  of  Dartmouth  to  realize  how  much  change  a 
century  of  existence  has  brought  the  college.  A  view  of 
the  three  or  four  earliest  buildings,  on  the  south-east 
comer  of  the  common,  if  such  a  one  existed,  would  be  to 
all  entirely  unrecognizable,  and  nearly  so  is  the  accom- 
panying sketch  of  the  second  group.  This  is  copied  from 
a  water-color  belonging  to  the  college,  executed  in  1803 
by  George  Ticknor,  afterward  the  famous  Harvard  pro- 
fessor, then  eleven  years  of  age.  Evidently  the  details 
are  inaccurate,  but  the  general  impression  correct. 

Then,  as  now,  the  most  important  figure  on  the  knoll 
was  Dartmouth  Hall.  The  vicissitudes  of  the  esteem  in 
which  this  structure  has  been  held  are  interesting  to 
consider.  Regarded  at  first  with  intense  pride,  later 
eliciting  only  a  contempt  which  scornfully  likened  it  to 
Noah's  ark,  it  is  now,  in  its  battered  age,  once  more  an 
object  of  admiration,  not  only  for  the  artistic  beauty  of 
its  proportions,  but  also  for  its  historic  associations. 
The  difficulties  met  in  its  erection  speak  plainly  of  the 
early  poverty  of  the  college.  Planned  in  1773,  it  could 
not  be  begun  for  eleven  years,  or  finished  for  seven  more, 
although  wood  was  substituted  for  the  brick  of  the 
original  design.     The  £4,500  which  it  cost,  were  raised 


14  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

with  extreme  difficulty  during  a  long  period,  in  every 
possible  way — by  grants  from  the  Provincial  Assembly, 
private  subscription,  public  lotteries,  and  the  contrac- 
tion of  a  debt  which  "rested  many  years,  a  hopeless 
drag  on  the  prosperity  of  the  College."  Its  early  in- 
terior plan  was  very  unlike  that  of  the  present  time.  On 
the  ground  floor  a  third  transverse  passageway  ran 
through  the  centre,  where  is  now  the  "  Old  Chapel,"  and 
a  door  at  each  end  of  the  building  admitted  to  a  longi- 
tudinal corridor.  In  the  second  and  third  stories,  re- 
spectively, the  halls  corresponding  to  this  latter  were 
bisected  by  a  library-room  and  museum.  This  arrange- 
ment was  very  distasteful  to  the  students,  some  of 
whom,  in  1811,  testified  as  much  by  blowing  down  the 
walls  of  the  museum  with  a  cannon,  thereby  nearly 
wrecking  the  whole  building.  A  rather  interesting  scene 
occurred  during  the  consequent  disciplining.  As  Presi- 
dent John  Wheelock,  according  to  custom,  was  an- 
nouncing in  chapel  the  expulsion  of  the  principal  oifender 
and  ordering  him  to  leave  the  village  within  a  speci- 
fied time,  that  individual  arose.  "I  shall  go,"  he  said, 
in  effect,  "when  I  judge  proper."  "Take  care  of  that 
man,"  cried  the  President.  "I  am  abundantly  able  to 
take  care  of  myself,"  he  replied.  "Before  I  leave  I  shall 
tweak  the  nose  of  "  (the  person  who  had  be- 
trayed him).  Thereupon  he  coolly  turned  and  fulfilled 
his  threat,  then  beat  a  triumphant  retreat. 

The  building  to  the  north  of  Dartmouth  was  erected 
hj  a  Colonel  Kinsman,  and  used  by  him  while  he  was 
steward,  and  later  by  the  College,  until  the  system  was 
abandoned  in  1815,  for  a  students'  commons  hall.    The 


THE   DARTMOUTH  BUILDINGS  IN  1803  15 

small  house  to  the  east  is  the  original  homestead  of 
Eleazar  Wheelock,  the  younger,  which  remained  a  pri- 
vate residence  until  it  was  torn  down,  sometime  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  '30s.  Its  only  connection  with  the  Col- 
lege was  from  1805-1807.  when  Ebenezer  Woodward, 
its  owner,  attempting  the  stewardship,  apparently  kept 
the  commons  there.  It  was  afterwards  known  as  "the 
Acropolis,"  because  it  stood  on  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

To  the  south-west  of  Dartmouth  stands  the  chapel, 
measuring  fifty  feet  by  thirty-six  feet,  built  in  1790,  after 
the  students  had  torn  down  the  old  **  College  Hall,"  in 
which  the  first  place  of  worship  was  located.  Half  of 
the  £300  which  it  cost  was  contributed  by  the  towns- 
people, who  met  there  with  the  students  for  devotional 
exercises  until  their  interest  was  purchased  by  the  Col- 
lege. It  was  at  first  open  to  the  students  for  their  enter- 
tainments, but  later  reserved  exclusively  for  certain  exer- 
cises under  the  supervision  of  College  officers,  which  in- 
cluded even  recitations  of  the  senior  class.  It  had  no 
chimney  or  stove,  and  "here,  before  breakfast  on  the 
cold  winter  mornings  and  in  the  dim  twilight  of  the 
evenings,  muffled  in  their  cloaks,  officers  and  students 
gathered  for  prayers."  It  was  removed  in  1828  to  the 
present  site  of  the  house  formerly  occupied  by  Professor 
Quimby  on  Main  street,  and  was  used  by  the  towns- 
people for  prayer  meetings  until  the  erection  of  the 
present  vestry,  about  1840,  when  it  was  transferred  to 
the  lot  on  the  north  corner  of  Main  and  Elm  streets, 
now  the  property  of  Mr.  E.  D.  Carpenter,  and  there 
made  into  a  barn,  in  which  condition  it  existed  for  man}: 
vears. 


16  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

The  gambrel-roofed  house  at  the  extreme  south  of  the 
picture  is  the  final  residence  of  the  first  president,  the 
home,  also,  of  Presidents  John  Wheelock,  Allen  ( of  the 
"  University  " ) ,  and  Tyler,  and,  — for  a  year  or  two,  —  of 
President  Lord.  To  make  room  for  Reed  Hall  it  was 
removed  in  1838  to  West  Wheelock  street,  where  it  is 
now,  in  a  considerably  altered  condition,  the  residence 
of  Mrs.  D.  B.  Howe.  There  is  a  tradition  that  its  ell 
formed  the  nucleus  of  the  present  residence  of  Professor 
Richardson. 

The  condition  of  the  College  at  this  time  was  preca- 
rious. The  number  of  students,  indeed,  was  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five,  including  the  medicals,  but 
there  were  only  four  professors,  with  one  tutor,  and  the 
total  estimated  income,  of  which  a  large  part  could  not 
be  collected,  was  $4,500. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96. 


My  Choice. 

C*  HOULD  some  ethereal  goddess  come  to  me 
^^    And  offer  whatsoever  she  could  give ; 
Should  heavenly  voices  whisper  in  my  ear : 

"  Take  anything  on  earth  you  wish  and  live  " ; 
Should  choice  be  given  'twixt  honor,  wealth,  and  thee, 
Which  thinkest  thou  that  I  should  likeh^  choose  ? 
Would  it  not  be  thee  ? 

H.  S.  Baketel,  D.  M.  C. 


Richard  Hoyey,  '85. 


A    CHAMPIONSHIP  SONG  17 


A  Championship  Song. 

1©)  ALLY,  fellows,  for  a  cheer !    Victory 's  here ! 
V    Bunch  up,  fellows,  for  a  shout !    Yell  it  out ! 
Join  the  wah-hoo-wah  in  chorus, 
For  the  pennant  floating  o'er  us. 
Live  the  green  and  white  forever ; 
Fade  their  ancient  glory  never. 
Bunch  up,  fellows !    Yell  with  me 
For  Dartmouth :  One,  two,  three ! 

Wah-hoo-wah !    Wah-hoo-wah ! 

Da-Da-Dartmouth !  wah-hoo-wah ! 


Louder,  fellows,  with  your  cheer !     Do  you  hear  ? 
Wake  the  noble  Earl  once  more  with  your  roar. 
The  laurel  crown  is  ours  again, 
And  shall  be  so  while  men  are  men. 
The  granite  hills  are  at  our  back. 
The  wind's  path  our  running  track. 
Bunch  up,  fellows,  more  and  more! 
For  Dartmouth  now  a  deafening  roar! 
Wah-hoo-wah !    Wah-hoo-wah ! 
Da-Da-Dartmouth  I  wah-hoo-wah ! 
T-i-g-e-r! 


18  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

Loud  again  the  victory  tell !    One  more  yell ! 
Every  Dartmouth  man  shall  hear,  far  and  near! 
While  a  heart  with  valor  thrills 
We  '11  glory  in  the  granite  hills, 
And  oft  again,  in  victory's  light,  ; 

Shall  float  on  high  the  green  and  white. 
Bunch  up,  fellows !    One  more  yell ! 
The  green  and  white !    Well — well — well ! 
Wah-hoo-wah !    Wah-hoo-wah ! 
Da-Da-Dartmouth !  wah-hoo-wah ! 
T-i-g-e-r! 

E.  O.  Grover,  '94. 


FRESHMAN:  HOMESICK. 

l3  E  wonders  what  they  're  doing  home  tonight, 
1       And  tries  to  plug  beneath  the  smoky  light. 

Alas !    How  far  his  thoughts  from  vexing  books ! 

How  sad  his  air,  how  woe-begone  his  looks ! 

No  carpets,  chairs;  all  dull  and  bare  and  cold. 

Is  life  worth  living,  after  all  ?    Tight  roH'd 

In  quilts,  he  dreams  —  of  going  home  some  day. 

Ah!  homesick  Freshman,  your's  the  toilsome  way. 

G.  A.  Green,  '98. 


CLARKSON,  RIGHT   GUARD  19 


Clarkson,  Right  Guard. 

I^LARKSON  laid  his  curly  brown  head  upon  the  Horace 
that  was  open  on  the  table  before  him,  and  between 
the  stubby  fingers  that  covered  his  eyes  a  few  drops  of 
suspicious  moisture  trickled  out.  His  parents  and  his 
classmates  would  have  alike  refused  to  believe  it  pos- 
sible, but  the  fact  was,  Sam  Clarkson  was  crying  and 
feeling  a  good  deal  better  for  it,  too. 

Clarkson  was  the  oldest  son  of  a  New  Hampshire 
farmer.  The  swarm  of  little  ones  that  came  after  him, 
needed  for  their  food  and  raiment  all  that  the  rocky  hill- 
sides could  possibly  produce.  So  when  Sam,  infected 
with  ambition  by  a  winter's  schoolmaster,  announced 
his  intention  of  going  to  college,  his  father  gave  him  his 
blessing  and  plainly  told  him  that  was  all  the  help  he 
could  expect. 

With  the  pluck  and  perseverance  of  three  Yankee  gen- 
erations in  his  blood,  that  did  not  damit  Sam  in  the 
least.  He  paid  tor  his  furnished  room  in  a  professor's 
house  by  taking  care  of  the  professor's  horse  and  little 
garden;  he  waited  on  table  at  a  dining-club  for  his 
board ;  secured  a  scholarship  for  his  tuition ;  and  was 
always  on  the  look-out  for  small  jobs,  sawing  wood,  for 
example,  to  pay  his  few  remaining  necessary  expenses. 

All  this  had  no  effect  upon  his  relations  with  his  class- 


20  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

mates.  Thank  Heaven,  there  was  never  a  bit  of  snobbery 
at  Dartmouth.  When  he  made  some  brilliant  "  rushes  " 
in  the  first  recitations  of  the  term,  the  men  in  his  division 
regarded  him  with  mild  interest ;  but  when,  in  the  cane 
rush,  he  put  the  sophomores'  best  man  squarely  on  his 
back  and  kept  him  there,  then  his  popularity  took  a 
sudden  and  tremendous  jump. 

He  was  "old  Clarkson"  then  to  all  the  Freshman 
class,  and  nothing  would  do  but  he  must  play  on  their 
foot-ball  eleven.  Being  a  big  fellow  and  a  natural  ath- 
lete, with  muscles  of  steel,  a  clear  eye  and  a  well-con- 
trolled temper,  Sam  liked  the  game,  and  played  it  in 
a  style  calculated  to  bring  terror  to  the  hearts  of  his  op- 
ponents. It  was  largely  owing  to  his  personal  prowess 
and  inspiring  presence  that  the  Freshmen  kept  the 
Sophomores  from  scoring  in  the  great  game  of  the 
year,  and  the  score  stood  0  —  0,  while  the  whole  college 
on  the  lines  howled  like  mad. 

When  the  alert  captain  of  the  'Varsity,  seeing  in  Clark- 
son  a  present  excellent  substitute,  and  a  prospective  cen- 
ter rush,  or  guard,  asked  him  to  come  out  regularly  with 
the  second  eleven,  he  w^as  considerably  surprised  to  be 
met  with  a  quiet  but  distinct  refusal.  "  I  'm  working  my 
way  through,"  said  Sam,  "and  I  haven't  time  for  that 
and  my  studies  and  foot-ball,  too."  Whereat  the  cap- 
tain grieved  and  swore;  but  the  coach,  who  had  cap- 
tained the  first  eleven  the  College  ever  had,  and  thought 
he  knew  Dartmouth  men  as  well  as  he  did  Dartmouth 
foot-ball,  said:  "Let  him  alone.  He'll  get  all  the  plug- 
ging he  wants  in  a  year,  and  then  he  '11  take  to  foot-ball 
like  a  duck  to  water.  You  don't  need  him  this  fall, 
anyway." 


CLARKSON,  RIGHT   GUARD  21 

It  was  Sophomore  year  now,  and  they  did  need  him 
sadly;  for  many  of  the  giants  who  had  won  the  cham- 
pionship the  year  before  were  gone.  But  still  Clarkson 
refused  to  go  into  training,  and  the  rest  of  the  College, 
at  first  puzzled  by  his  conduct,  gradually  grew  angry 
and  called  him  a  cow^ard,  and  a  chump,  and  various 
other  uncomplimentary  names.  Not  to  his  face,  to  be 
sure,  for  they  still  remembered  that  Freshman  cane  rush ; 
but  in  those  evening  gatherings  where  there  are  boys  in 
all  the  chairs  and  on  the  floor,  where  the  air  is  blue  with 
tobacco  smoke,  and  where  all  the  problems  of  the  uni- 
verse are  discussed  and  satisfactorily  settled,  from  the 
evolution  of  man  to  the  best  make  of  tennis  racquet. 

Finally,  the  new  captain,  who  was  a  handsome  young- 
ster, with  his  blue  ej^es  and  fair  cheeks,  told  the  Profes- 
sor's daughter  all  about  it.  It  has  not  been  previously 
remarked  that  Sam's  professor  possessed  such  a  thing  as 
a  daughter,  but  he  did,  and  a  very  x^retty  one,  too,  as 
any  man  in  college  could  tell  you.  She  was  a  dainty 
little  thing,  with  dark  hair  that  was  forever  straying  in 
bewitching  locks  and  curls,  and  honest,  deep  grey  ej^es, 
that  she  veiled  coquettishly  wnth  long  lashes.  As  for  the 
tiny  scarlet  crescent  of  her  mouth,  it  would  tempt  a 
man  to  more  than  the  steady  curve  of  the  rounded  chin 
would  allow. 

She  was  the  only  thing  in  the  world  of  which  Sam 
would  allow  to  himself  that  he  was  afraid.  He  had 
worshipped  her  with  a  sort  of  dumb  longing  since  the 
first  time  he  had  seen  her.  One  day  he  had  driven  her  to 
the  railway  station.  It  w^as  late  autumn,  and  the  chillj^ 
air  made  her,  unconsciously,  perhaps,  draw  closer  to 


22  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

him.  The  faint  perfume  from  her  hair  floated  up  into  his 
face,  and  presently  a  wandering  curl  ble^Y  against  his 
cheek.  He  could  feel  yet  that  electric  thrill,  and  it  was 
with  a  sense  almost  of  danger  that  he  had  avoided  her 
€Yer  since. 

But  this  day  it  had  been  impossible  to  elude  her.  She 
had  met  him  squarely,  and,  her  grey  eyes  flashing,  she 
had  said:  "I  did  not  expect  you,  Mr.  Clarkson,  to  be  a 
coward  and  disloyal  to  your  college." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  he  asked  quietly,  but  with  a  deep,  dark  flush 
on  either  cheek. 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  she  replied.  "  You  know  our  foot-ball 
team  is  weak  and  needs  you  badly — that  Amherst  is 
very  likely  to  beat  us.  And  still  you  refuse  to  play.  I 
am  very  much  disappointed  in  you,  Mr.  Clarkson." 

"I  am  sorrj',"  said  Sam  humbly,  and  stood  aside  for 
her  to  pass.  Then  he  went  to  his  little  room  and  tried 
to  work  upon  his  Latin  for  the  afternoon.  But  the 
lively  verse  of  old  Horace  did  not  at  all  suit  his  frame  of 
mind,  and  soon  he  found  himself  in  a  very  black  mood, 
hating  himself  and  everyone  else,  but  principally  that 
handsome  young  captain,  with  his  mone\^  and  his  wit 
and  his  walks  with  the  professor's  daughter. 

Then  he  thought  of  her  and  the  black  changed  to  blue, 
and  he  was  enjoying  all  the  sombre  delights  of  melan- 
choly when  there  came  a  tiny  tap  at  the  door.  He  had 
only  time  for  a  hasty  rub  at  his  e^^es  before  she  entered. 
A  little  dab  of  powder  under  one  eye  looked  as  if  she  had 
been  crying,  too,  but  Sam  did  not  notice  that.  He  only 
knew  that  she  was  holding  out  both  hands  to  him  and 
saying : 


CLARKSON,  RIGHT  GUARD  23 

"Will  YOU  forgive  me  for  what  I  said,  Mr.  Clarkson? 
I  wronged  you  cruelly,  and  I  am  very  sorry.  Father 
has  just  told  me  the  truth." 

There  was  a  lump  in  Sam's  throat  that  kept  him  from 
speaking,  and  she  went  on : 

"But  it  is  all  right  now.  Father  wants  you  to  be  his 
secretary,  and  he  will  pay  you  enough  so  that  you  will 
not  need  to  do  any  other  work,  and  will  have  plenty  of 
time  to  play  foot-ball.    Will  you  ?  " 

"Will  I?"  The  tone  of  the  voice  answered  the  ques- 
tion. 

Did  he  ?  Ask  the  left  guard  and  centre  on  that  sea- 
son's Amherst  team.  I  am  sure  they  still  remember 
how,  not  once  or  twice,  but  half  a  dozen  times,  in  that 
season's  championship  game,  there  plunged  between 
them  a  curly-haired  young  giant,  whose  onward  rush 
was  stopped  only  when  the  whole  opposing  eleven  was 
clustered  upon  his  shoulders  like  hounds  upon  an  elk. 

And  I  know  that  Clarkson  and  his  wife  still  remember 
what  the  Professor's  daughter  cried:  "Thirty-two  to 
nothing !    Oh,  Sam !    Dear  Sam !    It  is  glorious." 

H.  C.  Pearson,  '93. 


ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


To  THE  Connecticut  River. 

TraOW  under  the  hills  where  the  shadows  fly, 
The  pine  trees  murmur,  the  low  winds  sigh ; 
And  over  the  ripples  of  silver  and  shade 
The  moonlight  streams  like  a  pathway  laid. 
And  the  winds  kiss  the  leaves  and  the  leaves  kiss  the 

stream 
At  the  foot  of  the  bank  where  I  lie  and  dream. 

Your  years  will  come  and  mine  will  go ; 

You  w^ill  continue  to  wind  and  flow ; 
And  into  your  depths  the  stars  will  fall' 
That  shine  through  the  tops  of  the  hemlocks  tall. 

And  some  other  youth  will  watch  their  gleam, 

And  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  bank  and  dream. 

W.  B.  Plumer,  '96. 


>  i     J  J 


The  Coknecticut. 


«•     «  • 


GAUDBT   TBNTAMINE    VIRTUS"  25 


"Gaudet  Tentamine  Virtus." 

[The  early  chroniclers  of  Dartmouth  remarked  that  the 
family  device  of  the  Earl  of  Dartmouth,  "  Gaudet  Tentamine 
Virtus,"  seemed  especially  fitted  to  represent  the  spirit  of  the 
young  College.] 

T  you  ask,  my  good  friend,  how  it  chances 
(^    That  Dartmouth  men,  where'er  they  stray, 
Are  Hearing  the  front  in  life's  battle, 
And  ne'er  known  to  shrink  from  the  fray. 

Draw  near,  and  I  '11  tell  you  a  story. 
Though  somewhat  a  secret,  'tis  true. 
Of  Old  World  chivalrous  glory 
Forever  maintained  in  the  New. 

Far  o'er  the  sea  lies  an  island, 
The  emerald  gem  of  earth's  zone. 
Where  Wit  has  perennial  sources. 
And  Eloquence  nurtures  her  own. 

In  the  days  of  Erin's  lost  grandeur. 
When  her  fingers  so  royally  swept 
Her  golden  harp-strings  at  Tara, 
That  for  ages  in  sorrow  have  slept, 

There  flourished  among  her  proud  nobles 
A  chieftain  of  wisdom  and  might. 
Whose  crest  was  ever  the  foremost 
In  court,  camp,  council,  or  fight. 


26  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

Now  his  was  no  usual  sur-coat 
That  his  arms  emblazoned  displayed, 
On  the  moonlit  shores  of  Killamey, 
By  the  deft  hand  of  fairies  'twas  made, 

And  his  arms  had  a  magical  potence, 
Conferred  by  their  kindly  behest, 
Each  loyal  descendant's  proud  motto 
Was :  "  Manhood  delights  in  the  test." 

Years  passed :  o'er  the  hill-sides  of  granite 
A  Voice  in  the  Wilderness  cried, 
And  prompt  in  his  generous  succor 
The  staunch  Earl  of  Dartmouth  replied. 

His  birth  made  him  the  successor 
To  the  power  of  the  sur-coat,  I  ween, 
And  the  crest  that  never  was  tarnished 
Still  ever  the  foremost  was  seen ; 

His  name  passed  over  the  ocean 
For  the  honored  young  college  to  bear, 
And  when  green  as  its  color  was  chosen 
The  magical  charm  was  still  there. 

The  earls  of  Dartmouth  no  longer 
Grace  the  court  or  lend  aid  in  the  field. 
But  the  enchanted  device  has  grown  stronger 
In  the  might  of  our  Dartmouth  revealed  ; 

And  each  man  of  our  sterling  old  college, 
In  contest  of  brain  or  of  brawn. 
Inherits  the  motto's  brave  spirit 
That  urges  him  constantly  on, 


AMONG   THE  HILI.S  27 

And,  true  to  the  crest  of  our  patron, 

He  enters  the  conflicts  of  life 

Endowed  with  the  same  Dartmouth  feeling^, 

A  manly  delight  in  its  strife. 

W.  F.  Gregory,  '88. 


Among  the  Hills. 

T\  GAIN  among  the  hills ! 
(s)       The  shaggy  hills ! 
The  clear  arousing  air  comes  like  a  call 
Of  bugle  notes  across  the  pine,  and  thrills 
My  heart  as  if  a  hero  had  just  spoken. 
Again  among  the  hills ! 
The  jubilant  unbroken 
Long  dreaming  of  the  hills! 

R.  HoYEY.  '85. 


28  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


Dartmouth  in  England. 

n^HE  distinguished  individual  whose  portrait  hangs  in 
1  Wilson  Hall  was  the  Second  Earl  of  Dartmouth ;  the 
first  Earl  was  created  in  1711,  the  first  Baron  having 
been  created  in  1682;  the  arms  at  that  time  being  a 
white  stag's  head  on  an  azure  shield  ( dark  green  would 
have  been  more  appropriate).  The  crest  was  five  os- 
trich feathers,  alternating  blue  and  white,  possibly  azure 
and  argent;  underneath  was  a  scroll,  with  the  motto, 
"  Gaudet  tentamine  virtus  " ;  not  entirely  consistent  with 
that  portion  of  the  Lord's  prayer  which  says  "Lead  us 
not  into  temptation,"  and  perhaps  it  will  not  do  to 
encourage  the  employment  of  this  motto  too  strongly 
among  youths  of  tender  age,  who,  when  they  think  they 
stand,  should  take  heed  lest  they  fall. 

When  the  earldom  was  created  in  1711,  there  was 
added  to  the  arms  more  imposing  features — supporting 
lions,  with  a  ducal  coronet  in  the  crest,  while  the  shield 
was  sown  with  fleur-de-lis  and  mullets. 

The  Dartmouth  family  name  is  Legge.  Thomas  Legge 
w^as  sheriff  and  Lord  Mayor  of  London  in  the  middle 
of  the  fourteenth  century;  he  loaned  £300  to  Edward 
III.  to  war  w^ith  France,  and  therefore,  I  suppose,  came 
into  royal  favor.  His  son  William  married  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Sir  William  Washington ;  whether  of  the 
Northumberland  and  Durham  Washingtons,  from  whom 


Charles  T.  Gallaghe^?  Hov.  *93 


e       c   c    •      •   •      • 
c     c     c    •    ■•    c      • 

t  C         «€-•«»         • 


c  c      e      t 


«    e  et  f  e 


DARTMOUTH  IN  ENGLAND  29 

the  father  of  our  country,  is  claimed  to  have  sprung,  I 
am  unable  to  say ;  but  his  son  George  commanded  line- 
of-battle  ships  and  was  governor  of  Portsmouth,  near 
Dartmouth,  and  he  was  made  a  peer,  with  the  title  of 
baron,  in  1682. 

The  second  baron  was  one  of  the  Lord  Justices,  and 
was  made  Earl  of  Dartmouth  and  Viscount  Lewisham 
in  1711,  and  his  son,  the  second  earl,  was,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  the  progenitor  of  the  College. 

There  is  little  association,  at  present,  between  the 
town  of  Dartmouth  and  the  present  earl,  who  still  lives 
in  London ;  but  the  association  of  the  Legge  family  of 
one  or  two  centuries  past  was  at  Dartmouth,  from  which 
place  many  naval  expeditions,  particularly  against  the 
French,  set  out,  and  in  these  the  family  was  interested, 
Dartmouth  receiving  its  charter  of  municipality  for  hav- 
ing raised  two  ships  for  the  service  of  the  king,  and  later 
raised  thirty-one  ships  and  757  men  for  subsequent  wars 
against  France. 

So  when  Mr.  Whittaker,  with  Rev.  Samson  Occum,  the 
converted  Indian,  as  an  object  lesson,  went  to  England 
to  raise  funds  which  founded  our  College,  the  natural 
direction  of  Mr.  Whittaker  and  Mr.  Whitefield, — whom 
he  met  in  London, — was  to  the  Earl  of  Dartmouth, 
from  whose  section,  in  Old  England,  many  hundreds  of 
people  had  sailed  to  establish  a  New  England  in  the  new 
world ;  and  thus  it  was  that  Lord  Dartmouth  allowed 
the  use  of  his  name  and  money  in  obtaining  subscrip- 
tions throughout  England  for  the  establishment  of  a 
college,  which  started  from  Eleazer  Wheelock's  begin- 
ning; although,  in  some  way,  I  have  always  given  to 


30  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

Mr.  Thornton,  the  first  treasurer,  credit  for  a  greater 
part  of  the  success  than  to  Lord  Dartmouth. 

The  old  town  is  one  of  which  we  may  well  be  proud, 
either  to  have  as  an  ancestor  or  to  be  its  namesake ;  for, 
besides  its  beautifully  picturesque  location,  it  is  one  of 
the  most  interestingly  historical  places  on  the  coast  of 
England.  It  figures  in  Roman  and  Saxon  history,  and 
at  the  time  when  William  the  Conqueror  parcelled  out 
his  kingdom  among  his  followers,  Dartmouth  was  of  con- 
siderable importance.  It  is  claimed  that  William  Rufus 
left  his  hunting  in  Dartmoor  forest,  and  embarked  from 
here  when  he  went  to  relieve  the  Castle  of  Mans  in 
Normandy. 

Chaucer  says  of  his  **Shipman":  "For  aught  I  know  he 
was  of  Dertemouthe."  Richard,  the  lion-hearted,  sailed 
from  here  to  the  Holy  Land  with  his  crusaders,  and 
many  are  the  historical  incidents  claimed  for  the  place, 
which  time  will  not  permit  my  relating. 

It  was  the  home  of  Hawkins  and  Sir  Francis  Drake; 
here  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  lived  and  smoked  the  first  to- 
bacco that  he  brought  from  North  Carolina,  while  a 
rock  in  the  river  is  pointed  out  where  he  was  wont  to 
regale  himself  with  an  afternoon  pipe.  His  father-in- 
law.  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  also  sailed  from  Dartmouth 
on  his  voyages  of  discovery ;  Dartmouth,  also,  was  the 
birthplace  of  Newcomen,  who  invented  the  steam  engine, 
afterwards  perfected  by  Watt. 

The  town  is  at  the  mouth  of  the  Dart  River,  which 
takes  its  rise  in  Dartmoor,  the  highest  point  on  the 
water  shed,  from  which  flow  rivers  north  into  the 
Bristol  Channel,  at  points  in  the  country  of  "Lorna 


DARTMOUTH  IN  ENGLAND  31 

Doon"  and  Charles  Kingsley's  "Westward  Ho";  while, 
to  the  south,  the  rivers  flow,  like  the  Dart,  into  the 
English  Channel.  The  mouth  of  the  river,  about  150 
yards  in  width,  is  flanked  on  either  side  by  an  ancient 
castle,  restored  and  in  a  good  state  of  preservation.  In- 
side the  mouth  the  river  widens  to  a  large  harbor, 
capable  of  accommodating  500  vessels. 

The  local  history  states  that  Edward  the  Fourth  made 
a  bargain  with  the  municipality  of  Dartmouth,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  payment  of  £30  annually  forever,  that 
they  build  and  maintain,  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor, 
"a  stronge  and  mightye  and  defensyve  new  tower," 
with  a  boom  and  chain  extending  to  the  Castle  at 
Kingswear  on  the  opposite  bank,  an  oil  painting  of 
which  latter,  by  one  of  Dartmouth's  students,  hangs  in 
the  library  building.  The  Dartmouth  castle  preserves 
its  ancient  appearance;  but  is  occupied  only  by  an 
ordnance  sergeant  of  the  British  army,  who  has  charge 
also  of  the  fort  adjoining,  where  the  Devonshire  artillery 
exercise  the  cannon  in  the  casemates. 

Adjoining  the  castle,  also,  is  the  ancient  St.  Petrox 
church,  like  the  castle,  built  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and 
which  also,  like  a  portion  of  the  castle,  is  partially 
covered  with  ivy.  The  two  together  make  a  most  pic- 
turesque combination  from  every  point  of  view,  situ- 
ated, as  they  are,  on  the  rugged  rocks  at  the  mouth  of 
the  harbor,  the  green  clifis  rising  behind  and  beyond 
them,  terminating  in  the  higher  lands,  forming  a  most 
beautiful  setting;  above,  on  the  river,  extends  the  city 
of  Dartmouth  on  the  one  side,  and  Kingswear,  its  com- 
panion, on  the  other,  while  between  float  vessels  and 


32  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

boats,  making  of  the  whole  a  beautiful  picture ;  up  the 
stream,  in  the  distance,  lay  those  mammoth  hulks  of 
days  gone  by,  the  "Britannia"  and  "Hindoostan"  — 
old  three-deck  line-of-battle  ships,  peacefully  moored  to 
furnish  a  school  for  naval  cadets,  conducted  similar  to 
our  naval  school  at  Annapolis;  up  the  Dart  river  the 
scenery  is  most  fascinating  and  beautiful,  and  is  made 
one  of  the  pleasure  trips  by  people  resorting  to  South 
Devon.  Fifty  years  ago  Her  Majesty,  the  present  Queen, 
wrote  of  it  as  reminding  her  of  "the  beautiful  Rhine  and 
its  five  castles  and  the  Lorelei." 

But  one  of  the  most  important  facts,  and  one  which 
interests  us  more  than  anything  else,  outside  of  the 
association  of  the  old  town  with  the  College,  is  the 
historical  fact  that  practically  from  here  sailed  that 
little  barque  across  "the  mighty  Western  sea,"  freighted 
with  a  precious  cargo  that  was  to  lay  the  comer-stone 
of  a  nation,  the  blessings  of  which  we  now  enjoy;  for 
the  "Mayflower"  and  "Speedwell,"  after  leaving  Delft- 
haven,  really  sailed  from  Dartmouth  as  their  last  port 
of  departure,  and  put  into  Plymouth  only  because  the 
"Speedwell"  was  found  unseaworthy,  and  her  people 
were  transferred  to  the  "Mayflower"  at  that  port;  the 
"Mayflower,"  therefore,  really  made  her  passage  from 
the  town  of  Dartmouth,  though  she  temporarily  put 
into  Plymouth  for  the  above  purpose.  Therefore  the 
town  in  New  England,  whose  name  has  become  asso- 
ciated with  the  strength  and  greatness  of  our  nation, 
should  be  not  Plymouth,  but  that  given  to  our  College, 
—  Dartmouth. 

C.  T.  Gallagher,  Hon.  '93. 


>  >  >  > 


J.J  »  J 


THE   DARTMOUTH  BUILDINGS  33 


The  Dartmouth  Buildings  about  1835. 

|UR  second  picture  of  the  college  knoll  is  from  a  col- 
ored lithograph  made  at  Hartford,  Conn.,  probably 
about  1830—1835.  Already  the  general  appearance 
was  different  enough  from  that  of  thirty  years  before. 

The  most  conspicuous  change  is  the  presence  of  the 
two  new  dormitories,  then  used  exclusively  as  such. 
They  were  named,  respectively,  after  Governor  Went- 
worth,  and  John  Thornton,  of  England,  the  distinguished 
benefactors  of  the  college  in  its  early  struggles;  al- 
though, for  some  time,  they  were  spoken  of  colloquially 
as  North  and  South  Halls.  Dartmouth  Hall  had  under- 
gone within  a  material  renovation,  including  the  crea- 
tion of  the  then  new,  but  now  "  Old  "  Chapel. 

The  foreground  is  rather  fanciful,  although  the  paths 
ran  about  as  represented.  The  road  shown  just  south 
of  Thornton  probably  led  merely  to  the  rear  of  the 
Wheelock  House,  which,  by  the  way,  was  then  occupied 
by  a  Mrs.  Carrington,  who  took  boarders.  The  fences 
would  seem  to  have  been  somewhat  altered  since  the 
time  of  Mr.  Ticknor's  sketch. 

The  prosperity  of  the  college  was  then  increasing. 
There  were  about  250  students,  including  about  100 
medicals,  though  the  faculty  numbered  only  ten.  Some 
of  the  customs  and  drcumstances  of  that  day  seem  to 
us  a  little  strange.  The  college  owned  only  the  land  on 
which  these  buildings  stood;  for  not  until  late  in  the 

3 


34  ECHOES    FROM   DARTMOUTH 

'40s,  did  it  begin  to  acquire  the  rest  of  the  Park  square, 
and  not  for  thirty  years  after  that  did  it  secure  its  present 
almost  complete  control.  The  necessary  expenses  were 
estimated  in  the  catalogue  at  $101.22,  including  $27  for 
tuition,  $3  for  ordinary  incidentals,  and  $54  for  the  38 
weeks'  board.  Commencement,  originally  celebrated  in 
September,  occurred  then  on  the  Wednesday  preceding 
the  last  Wednesday  of  August.  A  vacation  of  four 
w^eeks  followed,  and  there  were  others,  of  two  and  a  half 
w^eeks  in  May  and  June,  and  of  six  and  a  half  w^eeks, 
arranged  for  the  large  number  who  wished  to  teach,  be- 
ginning in  the  latter  part  of  January.  Some  years  later 
this  arrangement  was  altered.  Attendance  was  made 
optional  during  an  eleven  weeks'  winter  term,  when  the 
chief  part  of  the  instruction  was  in  the  Modern  Lan- 
guages, w^hich  w^ere  considered  rather  unessential.  Later 
yet,  the  convenience  of  the  pedagogues  was  assured  by 
great  readiness  on  the  part  of  the  faculty  to  grant  ex- 
cuses for  absence  during  the  first  weeks  of  the  winter 
term.  So  a  gradual  evolution  has  gone  on,  until  at 
present,  since  the  work  in  the  summer  hotels  has  taken 
the  place  formerly  held  by  teaching,  the  long  summer 
vacation  has  come  into  being,  and  absence  during  the 
winter  is  paid  for  as  dearly  as  at  any  other  time. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96. 


>J»1I       i  i  1  i 


Harlan  Colby  Pearson,  '93. 


7.V  SENIOR   DAYS  3S 


In  Senior  Days. 

U^HE  little  wood  fire  in  the  grate  cast  a  narrow  circle 
1  of  light  into  the  enshrouding  darkness.  Within  the 
limits  of  its  brilliance  a  daintily  slippered  foot  and  a 
bit  of  silk  stocking  swung  to  and  fro  :  while  over  oppo- 
site a  pair  of  russet  walking  shoes  were  planted  solidly 
upon  the  polished  floor. 

From  the  direction  of  the  slipper  came  a  musical 
Toice,  with  a  thoughtful  note  in  it:  "Charley,  I've  been 
discussing  the  Sophoclean  choruses  with  papa  to-day. 
And,  Charley,  do  you  really  think  they  express  the  Greek 
idea  of  a  conscience,  or  what  ?  " 

The  russet  shoes  suddenly  withdrew  from  view,  as  if 
their  owner  sat  erect  tc,  reply:  "  My  dear  Florence,  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know,  and  I  hardly  think  I  particularly 
care.  The  way  your  respected  father  translates  them, 
they  might  express  about  anything." 

The  click  of  a  button,  and  the  soft  glare  of  the  electric 
light  illumined  the  becoming  indignation  of  a  very  pretty 
girl.  "  Charley  —  Mr.  Dana — what  do  you  mean  ?  I  did 
not  expect  such  a  remark  as  that  from  you." 

The  dark-eyed  young  fellow  in  the  great  easy  chair 
smiled  up  at  her  a  little  impatiently,  but,  enjoying  the 
bright  color  in  her  cheeks,  made  no  haste  to  reply :  **  Oh ! 
I  beg  pardon,  of  course.    But  we  get  so  much  of  that 


36  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

stuff  over  in  Dartmotith,  that  one  likes  something  else 
better  from  one's  sweetheart,  don't  you  know." 

"  The  proprietary  air  with  which  you  say  *  sweetheart/ 
Mr.  Dana,  is  simply  overpowering.  But,  if  you  regard 
an  engagement  as  a  prolonged  billing  and  cooing,  I  must 
beg  to  be  excused." 

"Ah,  yes!  quite  so.  And  if  your  fiancd  must  pass 
exams  in  Socrates  and  Sappho,  I  shall  have  to  plug 
harder  than  I  've  ever  done  yet." 

The  rose  was  changed  to  the  lily  now,  and  wrath  made 
the  brown  eyes  sparkle  as  brightly  as  the  richly  set  soli- 
taire that  she  threw  in  his  lap.  **  It  is  evident,  Mr.  Dana, 
that  I  was  very  much  mistaken  in  you  a  month  ago.  It 
is  weU  we  found  it  out  so  soon.    Good  evening !  " 

As  she  swept  from  the  room  with  a  queenly  grace, 
Charley  Dana  watched  her  with  an  admiring  smile.  A 
smile  that  continued  as  he  strolled  under  the  broad- 
branching  elms  down  the  moonlit  street ;  as  he  watched 
a  glass  marble  and  gailj^-painted  wheel  revolve  in  oppo- 
site directions ;  and  as,  fifty  dollars  richer,  he  sank  into 
a  child-like  sleep  at  2  o'clock  in  the  morning.  For  this 
was  by  no  means  his  first  "lovers'  quarrel "  ;  and  he  con- 
fidently relied  upon  his  charms  of  face  and  manner  to 
carry  him  through  this,  as  they  had  the  previous  ones. 

Whether  or  no  Florence  Huntley's  pillow  felt  the  touch 
of  tears  that  night,  is  a  lady's  secret  into  which  we  will 
not  pry.  But  the  radiance  of  her  smiles,  next  morning, 
fairly  bewildered  curly-haired  little  Teddy  Bell.  So  com- 
pletely was  he  overpowered,  in  fact,  that  the  quality  of 
his  ball  playing  fell  off  perceptibly.  Whereat  the  man- 
ager and  captain  held  a  long  and  serious  consultation, 


IN  SENIOR   DAYS  37 

for  the  final  championship  games  were  close  at  hand,  and, 
with  Teddy  out  of  form,  the  chances  of  success  were 
greatly  diminished.  But,  as  the  fair  Florence's  favor 
continued,  Teddy  recovered  all  his  old  nerve,  and  felt 
that  he  could  do  better  work  than  ever  under  the  inspi- 
ration of  her  eyes. 

That  last  Amherst  game  will  never  be  forgotten  by  the 
men  who  saw  it.  The  last  half  of  the  ninth  inning,  the 
score  a  tie,  a  Dartmouth  man  on  third,  and  two  hands 
out!  From  behind  first  and  third  bases,  long,  living, 
human  lines  converge.  The  cheering  that  was  frantic  a 
minute  or  two  ago,  grows  mechanical,  then  ceases  alto- 
gether. The  nervous  strain  is  terrible.  A  burly  senior 
relieves  himself  by  swearing,  none  too  softly,  and  the 
grey-haired  professor  next  him  never  thinks  of  reproof. 
Even  the  girls  in  the  grand  stand  appreciate  the  crisis, 
and  lean  forward  with  breathless  interest.  Out  in  the 
field  the  auburn-crowned  Amherst  captain  bites  his  lip 
till  it  bleeds,  in  his  struggle  to  keep  cool.  Great  drops  of 
sweat  stand  out  on  the  little  pitcher's  forehead,  and  his 
legs  tremble  in  spite  of  himself. 

The  brown  sphere  shoots  across  the  plate.  "One 
strike,"  and  Teddy  Bell,  bat  at  his  shoulder,  has  moved 
not  a  muscle.  "Two  strikes,"  and  a  swelling,  sullen 
murmur,  like  an  angr\^  sea,  vibrates  along  the  lines. 
The  ball  comes  once  more,  swift  and  straight  as  an 
arrow.  But  this  time  it  is  met.  Crack !  and  the  spell  is 
broken.  A  pretty  hit,  Mr.  Steams,  just  out  of  your 
reach.  And  the  winning  run  is  scored.  Yell,  Dartmouth, 
yell!  Be  madmen  if  you  will.  Forget  that  you  are 
young  or  old,  rich  or  poor,  wise  or  foolish.    Remember 


38  ECHOES    FROM   DARTMOUTH 

only  that  we  have  gloriously  won  a  pennant.  And  you, 
Teddy  Bell,  be  proud  as  you  may,  for  this  is  the  day  of 
your  exaltation.    And  lay  away  carefully,  if  you  will, 

the  rose  she  took  from  her  breast  to  pin  on  yours. 

******** 

Tuesday  evening  of  Commencement  w^eek.  The  glee 
club  concert  is  over,  and  the  crowd,  pouring  out  of  the 
old  gymnasium,  turns  its  steps  up  the  street  toward 
Dartmouth  hall.  There  the  grey  elms  in  the  college  yard 
have  put  forth  their  annual  bloom  of  Chinese  lanterns 
and  electric  bulbs;  beneath  them  sounds  the  pensive 
strain  of  "After  the  Ball";  and  around  the  distorted 
circle  of  the  walks  twists  and  curls  an  endless  human 
serpent. 

This  young  fellow  in  faultless  evening  dress  chew^s  his 
moustache  rather  angrily.  And  the  trim  little  girl  at  his 
side  does  not  seem  very  happy  either;  perhaps,  because 
she  is  manifestly  his  sister. 

"Charley,"  she  saj'^s,  "3^ou  never  sang  better  in  your 
life.  And  you  ought  to  be  proud  of  leading  such  a  glee 
club,  too." 

"Sure,"  is  the  monos\'llabic  reply,  whereat  little  sister 
looks  up  with  mingled  pity  and  vexation.  Her  face 
lights  up  a  moment  later,  however,  as  an  advancing 
couple  are  stopped  and  engaged  in  merrj'  conversation. 

Just  how  it  happened  no  one  but  Kittie  Dana  knew. 
But  when  the  band  struck  up  another  air  she  and  Teddy 
Bell  strolled  away  together,  nursing  a  bad  case  of  love 
at  first  sight;  and  Florence  Huntley  and  her  former 
sweetheart  were  left  to  their  own  devices. 

I  suppose  they  said  a  great  deal  to  each  other  in  a  very 


IN   SENIOR   DAYS— THE   REASON    WHY  39 

short  time.  For  it  was  not  long  before  I  saw  them  steal 
"far  from  the  madding  crowd"  up  to  the  picturesque 
solitude  of  Observatory  hill.  And  I  alone  know  —  prome- 
nade concerts  are  guiltless  of  chaperones  —  what  hap- 
pened there,  when,  as  the  clock  struck  twelve,  the 
musicians  packed  up  their  instruments  and  the  myriad 
lights  w^ere  extinguished. 

How  a  shapeless  monster  in  the  little  iron  summer- 
house  dissolved  into  two  parts.  And  how,  before  the 
separation  took  place,  a  smothered  voice  said : 

"  Charley,  I  just  hate  Greek  choruses." 

H.  C.  Pearson,  '93. 


wi 


The  Reason  Why. 

S  we  sat,  not  a  word  passed  between  us — 

I  '11  tell  3'ou  the  reason  why : 
We  sat  so  close  it  would  be  no  use 

For  even  a  word  to  try. 

J.  W.  Bishop,  '95. 


40  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  Old  and  New. 

JUHE  old  Year,  the  happy  Year, 
1     The  Year  we  used  to  know. 
Stands  shivering  at  the  door  tonight, 

And  waits  her  turn  to  go. 
We  fain  would  clasp  the  pleading  hands 

And  smooth  the  wrinkled  brow, 
But  Time  has  beckoned,  and  she  says : 
"  I  must  be  going  now !  " 

The  new  Year,  the  dawning  Year, 

The  Year  that  we  shall  know. 
Comes  romping  in  with  baby  feet 

From  out  the  frost  and  snow. 
She  clambers  high  upon  our  knee, 

And  whispers  in  our  ear, 
The  while  she  clasps  her  chubby  hands : 

"A  Happy  New  Year!  " 

E.  O.  Grover,  '94. 


Edwin  Osgood  Grover,  '94. 


A   DARTMOUTH   INVENTION  4,1 


A  Dartmouth  Invention. 

TT  is  not,  perhaps,  generally  known  to  present  tinder- 
^  graduates  that  a  Dartmouth  catcher  was  the  first  to 

use  the  body-protector,  which  is  now  used  by  every 
catcher. 

In  the  year  of  '82,  the  hopes  of  Dartmouth  base-ball 
enthusiasts  had  been  somewhat  dampened  by  the  an- 
nouncement that  the  man  best  fitted  for  the  position  of 
catcher  had  been  forbidden  by  his  parents  to  play  that 
position,  for  the  catcher  in  those  days  was  peculiarly 
liable  to  injury  in  the  body,  for  which  there  was  no 
protection. 

So  it  was  that  the  uninitiated  were  agreeably  sur- 
prised to  see  their  favorite  catcher  take  his  place  behind 
the  bat  in  one  of  the  first  Harvard  games  played  that 
season.  * 

Before  many  innings  had  been  played,  a  swift  foul  tip 
had  struck  him  full  in  the  stomach,  and  the  spectators 
leaned  anxiously  forward,  expecting  to  see  him  doubled 
up  with  agony  and  carried  from  the  field.  What  was 
their  astonishment  when  they  saw  him  instead,  coolly 
pick  up  the  ball  and  toss  it  to  the  pitcher.  If  this  had 
happened  among  savages,  the  catcher  would  probably 
have  gained  some  such  name  as  "  The  Man  w^ith  the  Iron 
Stomach."  As  it  was,  the  wonder  of  the  observers  was 
not  lessened,  until  the  matter  was  explained  to  them  by 


4.2  ECHOES    FROM    DARTMOUTH 

the  more  intimate  friends  of  the  player,  for,  being  much 
disappointed  at  his  parents'  refusal  to  let  him  catch,  he 
had  set  his  wits  at  work  and  devised  a  sort  of  padded 
cushion,  which  could  be  worn  under  his  uniform,  and  did 
not  in  the  least  impede  his  motions.  It  was  not  very 
large,  and  fitted  so  well  that  no  one  would  know  from 
his  a]jpearance  that  he  was  thus  protected. 

From  that  time  the  protector  became  an  essential  part 
of  every  catcher's  outfit. 

Man3^  readers  of  this  will  recognize  in  the  inventor  one 
of  the  most  prominent  of  Dartmouth's  alumni. 

N.  L.  Foster,  '96. 


To  A  Withered  Mayflower. 

OAIR  withered  blossom,  though  thy  tender  leaves 
Are  bruised  and  ragged  torn. 
And  thou,  e'en  oithy  unassuming  grace  art  shorn, 
Thou  still  art  just  as  dear. 

Undimmed  the  air  thy  fragrance  yet  receives. 

One  breath  so  small, 
Yet  round  me  all 

The  voices  of  thy  piny  home  I  hear. 

F.  V.  Bennis,  '98. 


Frederic  Vucassovich  fe^xN^s',*'^^. 


THE   REIGN    OF   TERROR  43 


Sanborn  Hall  During  the  Reign  of 
Terror  of  1894-1895. 


jjniS  eight  o'clock  in  Sanborn    Hall;    a    placid  quiet 

1  reigns : 

^Tis   like   the   brewing   of  the   storm    that  3^et  unseen 

remains. 
The  Hall  an  air  of  wise  research  and  classic  stud^'  wears : 
The  only  sounds  are  gentle  steps  which  travel  up  the 

stairs. 

'Tis  nine  o'clock  in  Sanborn  Hall ;  a  murmuring  sound  is 

heard  ; 
The  storm  is  gathering  nearer  now,  but  naught  has  yet 

occurred : 
A  distant  song  comes  from  above  and  on  our  ears  doth 

fall, 
But  still  a  dignified  repose  hangs  over  Sanborn  Hall. 

'Tis  half-past  nine;  the  songs  increase  and  float  from 

many  bards; 
From  rooms  near  by,  through  open  doors,  we  hear  them 

shuflEling  cards. 
The  money's  chink,  theglasses' clink,  increase  our  anxious 

fears. 
As  louder  yet  the  rising  sounds  fall  on  our  listening  ears. 


44  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

'Tis  ten  o'clock  in  Sanborn  Hall;  the  sounds  are  now 
foil  loud; 

In  rooms  above,  in  halls,  on  stairs,  we  hear  the  gather- 
ing crowd. 

The  time  rolls  on,  the  sounds  increase,  the  noise  becomes 
a  din; 

The  joyous  youths  will  now  full  soon  their  evening's 
work  begin. 

'Tis  half-past  ten ;  athletic  games  are  played  now,  in  the 

hall; 
The  racers  rush,  with  clattering  shoes,   and  oft-times 

loudly  fall. 
The  bold  contestants  gather,  then,   and  try,  with  all 

their  might, 
To  see  who  first  can  hurl  a  ball  against  the  electric  light. 

Eleven  o'clock  in  Sanborn  Hall;  the  lights  are  out  and 

gone; 
'Mid  crashing  sounds  of  splintering  wood,  we  wish  in 

vain  for  dawn : 
A  raging  crowd  attacks  our  door,  which  is  not  strong 

as  rock ; 
They  push  and  shove,  they  kick  and  slam,  they  try  to 

pick  the  lock. 

In  wrath  and  dread  we  sit  and  swear,  and  watch  our 

tottering  door ; 
We  prop  it  up  with  chairs  and  trunks,  all  piled  upon  the 

floor: 


THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR  45 

Some  Yoiitlis  without  have  seized  a  trunk,  and  rush  it 

up  and  down ; 
The  noise  is   such  we   almost   think  'twill  wake   the 

startled  town. 

Half-past  eleven  in  Sanborn  Hall;  the  noise  is  at  its 

height ; 
A  constant  din  from  room  and  hall  disturbs  the  calm  of 

night : 
The  shutters,  seized  by  ruthless  hands,  are  dashed  upon 

the  ground. 
But,  'mid  the  roar,  we  scarce  can  hear  this  slight  and 

gentle  sound. 

'Tis  twelve  o'clock  in  Sanborn  Hall;  the  crisis  now  is 

o'er: 
Though  still  the  din  is  wild  and  fierce,  'tis  less  than  'twas 

before. 
A  few,  who  dread  tomorrow's  sun,  are  hastening  from 

the  Hall; 
Their  echoing  footsteps,  as  they  go,  shake  ceiUng,  floor, 

and  wall. 


'Tis  twelve-fifteen  in  Sanborn  Hall;  our  door  is  left,  at 

last; 
The  crowd  decides  to  haste  to  bed;  the  sounds  grow 

gentler  fast. 
"  Good-night !  Good-nightl  "  we  hear  the  call ;  and  then, 

oh,  sad  to  tell. 
The  answer  to  this  kindly  wish  is  simply,  "  Go  to !  " 


46  ECHOES    FROM   DARTMOUTH 

'Tis  half-past  twelve  in  Sanborn  Hall;  the  sounds  are 

growing  low : 
The  crowd  has  thinned,  and  those  who  stay  prepare  to 

bed  to  go ; 
My  friend  and  I,  with  weary  sigh,  prepare  to  go  there  too, 
A  thing  which,  for  the  last  two  hours,  we  much  have 

wished  to  do, 

'Tis  eight  o'clock  in  Sanborn  Hall ;  the  day  is  bright  and 

hot: 
The  janitor  arrives  and  sees,  and  cries,  in  woe,  "Great 

Scott! " 
He  meets  the  leader  of  the  band,  who,  sauntering  down 

the  hall. 
Remarks,  "They  made  such  noise  last  night  I  could  not 

sleep  at  all. 

"  A  band  of  '  medics '  came,  you  know,  and  made  a  devil- 
ish row ; 
I  tried  to  study  up  my  'trig.,'  but  I  don't  know  it  now. 
I  wish  those  'blamed,'  confounded  fools  would  keep  out 

in  the  street ' ' ; 
And  then  he  goes  off  to  his  club,  and  sits  him  down  to  eat. 
******** 

'Twas  thus  it  was  in  Sanborn  Hall,  in  days  that  now 

are  gone ; 
'Twas  thus  the  revellers  raged  and  slammed  from  eve  far 

on  towards  dawn. 
We  cannot  pierce  the  future's  veil,  or  see  w^hat  will  befall; 
We  hope  that  now  a  peaceful  calm  will  reign  in  Sanborn 

Hall.  C.  N.  McCall,  '98. 


>  1  >  » 

i  i 


»  J3  -> 


Harrie  Sheridan  Baketel,  D.  M.  C. 


OUT   WITH   THE   TIDE  47 


Out  With  the  Tide. 

TT  had  been  an  awftd  night.  For  hours  the  wind  had 
howled  and  moaned  about  this  tiny  cottage  nestled 
among  the  cliffs.  Now  it  resembled  the  awful  roar  of 
a  lion,  and  now  the  soft  and  plaintive  wailings  of  an 
infant.  The  storm  had  spent  its  fury,  but  the  waves  still 
beat  upon  the  rocky  shore,  with  that  sullen  roar  which 
portends  approaching  evil. 

"  Old  man,  the  tide  is  going  out."  As  if  from  the  sep- 
ulchre came  those  words,  and  they  brought  a  chill  of 
terror  to  the  person  addressed.  "Jack,  it  is  near  the 
ebb.  Draw  closer:  I  wish  to  talk  with  you."  Again 
came  that  sepulchral  voice,  and  once  more  the  hearer 
started. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room,  reclining  upon  a  rough  bed, 
lay  the  prostrate  form  of  a  man  of  thirty,  a  man  whose 
wasted  face  bore  traces  of  aristocratic  breeding  and 
former  good  looks.  In  height  he  stood  perhaps  six  feet, 
with  a  body  built  in  proportion.  His  shapely  head  was 
covered  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of  straight  black  hair, 
while  a  heavy  mustache  hid  a  set  of  pearly  teeth.  His 
face  bore  a  most  determined  air,  in  spite  of  the  ravages 


48  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

of  illness,  and  great  strength  of  character  was  clearly- 
portrayed  there.  The  sick  man  possessed  the  general  air 
of  a  gentleman,  although  he  was  in  a  fisherman's  hut. 

The  person  addressed  was  of  an  entirely  different  type. 
A  short  stature,  a  grizzled  countenance,  almost  amount- 
ing to  a  frown,  and  deep-set,  piercing  eyes,  characterized 
Jack  Amazeen,  the  fisherman.  He  had  long  passed  the 
half-century  milestone,  but  looked  as  rugged  as  the  cliffs 
he  loved  so  well. 

Almost  a  year  before,  after  a  great  storm,  a  boat  was 
washed  ashore,  in  which  was  found  the  apparently  life- 
less body  of  a  man.  The  ever-generous  Amazeen  took 
the  storm-tossed  stranger  to  his  humble  cottage,  and 
there  nursed  him  back  to  life.  This  man,  cast  up  by  the 
sea,  gave  the  name  of  Jackson — Thomas  Lee  Jackson — 
but  more  than  that  no  one  knew.  He  never  mentioned 
his  antecedents  nor  anything  of  his  past  life.  His  rough 
associates,  thinking  he  had  some  trouble  on  his  mind, 
did  not  press  the  subject,  and  soon  he  became  with  the 
rest  —  in  body,  if  not  in  spirit — a  common  fisherman. 

Time  passed  on.  The  new-comer,  evidently  accustomed 
to  luxury,  could  not  stand  the  hardships  of  such  a  life, 
and  was  stricken  down  with  fever.  With  the  winter  his 
illness  increased,  until  on  this  cold,  wild  night  the  climax 
had  come.  "Jack,  it  is  near  the  ebb.  Draw  closer: 
I  wish  to  speak  with  you."  Amazeen  did  as  he  was 
bid.  With  a  touch  almost  as  gentle  as  a  woman's,  he 
smoothed  out  the  pillows  and  changed  to  a  more  com- 
fortable position  the  weary  sufferer. 

"Jack,"  he  began,  "I  have  never  told  you  of  my  life, 
but  I  feel  the  end  approaching,  and  I  wish  to  die  in 


OUT    WITH    THE    TIDE  49 

peace.  Far  away  in  a  little  Virginia  town,  surrounded 
by  beautiful  trees  and  well-kept  lawns,  is  situated  the 
manor  house  of  Thomas  Lee  Jackson,  my  father.  There, 
in  that  house,  quite  thirty  years  ago,  I  was  bom,  and 
there  for  eighteen  years  I  lived,  as  happy  and  innocent 
as  a  boy  could  be.  I  had  seen  nothing  of  the  world, 
its  trials  and  troubles,  and  knew  only  happiness.  My 
mother  was  a  proud,  high-spirited,  yet  lovable  woman, 
and  to  her  I  owe  my  gentleness  of  disposition.  My  sire 
was  of  an  old  and  highly  aristocratic  family.  He  had  a 
cold  and  stern  manner,  which  made  me  respect  him,  but 
killed  all  thoughts  of  love.  My  constant  playmate 
v/as  a  black-eyed,  dark-haired  little  maiden,  by  name 
Helen  La  Fetra.  Her  family  came  originally  from 
New  Orleans,  and  she  possessed  all  the  traits  of  a 
Creole.  When  very  young  our  mothers  decided  we 
should  marry  w^hen  the  proper  time  came,  and  we  grew 
up  with  no  other  thought.  I  believed  I  loved  Helen. 
She  was  a  beautiful  girl  in  feature  and  character,  and 
her  only  fault  was  the  presence  of  the  green-eyed  mon- 
ster, jealousy. 

"  Shortly  after  my  eighteenth  birthday  it  was  decided 
I  should  enter  the  St.  Thomas's  School  for  Boys,  situ- 
ated within  a  few  minutes'  ride  of  Philadelphia,  Natu- 
rally I  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  prospect,  and  im- 
mediately informed  Helen  as  to  my  future  plans.  She 
cried  and  mourned  so  that  my  heart  was  touched,  and  I 
allowed  that  I  wotdd  stay  at  home.  But  pere  Jackson 
listened  to  no  such  childish  excuse,  and  in  a  few  days  I 
had  bade  my  betrothed  farewell.  For  a  few  months  all 
was  pleasant.    Frequent  and  tender  missives  found  their 


30  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

waj'  between  St.  Thomas's  School  and  that  little  Vir- 
ginia town,  and  Helen  and  I  were  happy. 

"  Suddenly  there  came  a  change.  One  afternoon,  while 
walking  down  Chestnut  street  in  Philadelphia,  I  met  my 
fate.  Hers  was  the  most  divine  face  I  had  ever  seen.  It 
seemed  to  my  boyish  nature  that  she  must  be  an  angel 
on  earth,  and  yet  I  had  never  heard  her  voice.  That 
face  haunted  me  by  day,  and  was  in  my  dreams  at  night. 
For  weeks  I  spent  my  leisure  hours  in  wandering  up  and 
down  the  streets  of  that  cit}'^,  longing  for  a  glimpse  of  la 
belle  inconnue.  At  length  my  hopes  were  realized.  One 
day,  in  company  with  two  fellow-students,  I  entered  a 
large  store,  and  the  first  person  I  beheld  was  she.  My 
ideal  a  shop-girl !  I  quailed  at  the  thought,  but,  student- 
like, found  a  pretext  to  speak. 

' '  That  visit  was  but  the  first  of  many.  I  need  not  tell 
how  I  met  her  when  work  was  over  and  escorted  her  to 
the  neat,  yet  cheerless  apartments  where  she  Hved  with 
an  invalid  mother  and  younger  sister ;  how  I  partook  of 
their  simple  meals,  read  with  her,  sang  with  her,  and 
sped  the  hours  in  the  thousand  ways  known  to  lovers. 
Ah,  Jack,  those  were  happy  days !  I  met  her  as  a  boy, 
but  those  experiences  transformed  me  into  a  man. 

"  My  father!  How  faint  I  grew  when  I  imagined  my- 
self before  him,  venturing  the  information  that  I  loved  a 
shop-girl!  And  Helen — she  to  whom  I  was  affianced! 
Recklessly  I  went  on,  falling  deeper  and  deeper  in  love 
with  Susie— her  name  was  Susie  Winsted— until  she 
became  a  part  of  my  very  life. 

"  The  summer  came,  and  with  it  the  time  for  my  de- 
parture.    I  will  say  nothing  of  my  leaving:  it  is  too 


OUT   WITH   THE   TIDE  St 

sacred.  From  the  time  I  met  Sttsie  my  letters  to  Helen 
had  been  irregular,  but  she  received  me  as  if  constancy 
had  been  personified.  I  dreaded  to  tell  my  father,  for  I 
knew  the  inevitable  result ;  yet  it  remained  undone,  and 
I  resolved  to  take  courage.  The  result  was  worse  than 
I  anticipated.  He  raved  and  swore,  and  declared  that  I 
should  marry  Helen  or  leave  his  house  forever.  Despite 
the  vain  entreaties  of  my  mother  his  will  was  firm.  Give 
up  Susie  ?  Never !  I  would  sooner  have  sold  my  chances 
of heaven. 

"  But  my  meeting  with  Helen — how  can  I  ever  describe 
it?  Ah,  plainly  do  I  see  her  now,  though  eleven  years 
have  passed  since  that  day.  She  stood  in  the  drawing- 
room,  dressed  in  a  loose,  flowing  white  gown,  with  red 
rosebuds  at  the  throat,  and  a  diamond-crested  dagger  in 
her  hair.  She  was  no  longer  the  lovable  girl  I  had  loved, 
indeed,  a  fiend  had  taken  that  place.  And  the  words  she 
spoke !  — a  little  water,  please,  old  man ;  yes,  I  feel  better 
now— Oh,  God!  what  words!  She  brought  down  the 
curses  of  a  thousand  devils  upon  me  and  mine  forever. 
Glad  was  I  when  she  fainted,  permitting  me  to  leave.  I 
went  home  and  craved  my  father's  pardon.  It  was  use- 
less :  he  was  immovable. 

**  A  few  months  found  me  in  Philadelphia,  clerking  in  a 
store,  married  to  my  love.  For  a  while  nothing  marred 
our  happiness,  and  I  had  almost  forgotten  Helen's  curse, 
but  such  happiness  cotdd  not  endure.  Susie  was  about 
to  realize  the  fondest  anticipations  of  a  woman's  heart. 

"Her  invalid  mother  was  seriously  injured  by  a  fall 
and  died  in  a  short  time.  The  shock  was  too  great  for 
my  girl-wife.    She  was  stricken  down,  and  the  end  came 


52  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

sooner  than  I  expected.  All  night  long  the  doctors 
watched  over  and  administered  to  her,  but  as  the  tide 
went  out,  the  spirit  of  all  that  was  dear  to  me  was 
swept  out  upon  the  great  unknown  sea,  and  with  it 
went  the  soul  of  our  little  boy.  The  curse!  the  curse! 
How  little  did  I  think  it  would  come  to  that ! 

"  Then  my  life  became  a  blank.  I  shipped  as  a  sailor, 
thinking  death  might  come  sooner,  but  fortune  had  de- 
creed otherwise.  We  were  w^recked,  but  the  curse  was 
over  me,  and  I  was  washed  ashore.  You  know  the  rest. 
Jack,  when  I  am  gone  I  want  you  to  write  to  my  father 
and  tell  him  of  my  end,  and — just  one  more  sip  of 
water.  Let  me  sleep  a  little  while,  and  I'll  tell  you  the 
rest."  The  wanderer  turned  on  his  couch,  and  soon  was 
wrapped  in  a  peaceful  slumber. 

The  dawn  was  fast  approaching,  and  the  tide  was 
going  out.  The  wind  died  away.  The  ocean  roared  as 
before.  The  sick  man  slept  on.  His  dreams  seemed  dis- 
turbed, and  incoherent  mutterings  intermingled  with  his 
breathing.  The  sun  rose  above  the  great  hills  far  off  to 
the  eastward,  and  the  dull  gray  faded  as  its  bright  rays 
crept  above  the  horizon.  A  single  ray  of  light  stole  in 
through  the  little  window,  playing  about  the  sufferer's 
face.  It  brightened  up  the  care-worn  features  as  with  a 
light  from  heaven.  The  man  awoke  with  a  ghastly  fire 
burning  in  his  eyes,  but  a  seraphic  smile  lighted  up  his 
countenance. 

"Jack,  my  boy,  the  tide  has  nearly  ebbed.  Listen,  do 
you  hear  that  music,  the  sound  of  voices,  and,  Jack,  look 
yonder,  I  see  the  river  and  angels  on  the  other  side,  and 
oh,  Jack !  there  —  in  —  the  —  midst  —  is  —  Susie— my —• 


RENEWAL  S3 

Susie" — and  with  hands  outstretched,  and  the  name  of 
his  beloved  on  his  lips,  the  noble  spirit  of  Tom  Jackson 
left  its  earthly  frame. 

The  tide  had  ebbed.  The  wind  moaned  a  solemn 
requiem,  and  the  waves,  as  they  beat  against  the  rocky 
cliflfs,  sang  a  farewell  mass  for  the  departed  soul. 

H.  S.  Baketel,  D.  M.  C. 


Renewal. 

SAW  one  faring  up  the  hills  of  Life 

Beneath  a  sultry  noon-tide's  blazing  beams ; 
His  shield  bore  dents  from  many  a  field  of  strife, 
His  rusty  mail  was  gashed  in  gaping  seams. 
He  walked  alone,  a  pilgrim  staff  for  spear, 
Nor  called  for  help,  believing  none  would  hear. 

I  saw  him  once  again  far  up  the  height ; 

Upon  his  staff  a  pennon  fair  unfurled. 

His  peerless  brow  was  radiant  with  light. 

He  moved  ill  strength  with  thews  to  throw  the  world. 

Before  the  victor  fled  his  foeman  grim, 

For  he  was  mighty  since  Love  walked  with  him. 

O.  S.  Davis,  '89. 


S4  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  Campus. 

IJLJHERE  once  the  pine  tree  tossed  its  lordly  head, 
Where  once  the  Indian  spread  his  hemlock  bed, 
Where  hooting  owl  his  portent  shrilly  screamed, 
And  eyes  of  crouching  panthers  glowed  and  gleamed ; 
'Tis  there  it  spreads  its  bosom  to  the  sky. 
Reflects  the  clouds  that  bending  o'er  it  lie 
To  look  where  year  on  year  they  see  again 
The  groups  of  happy  youths  and  learned  men. 

'Tis  long  since  hardy  hands  the  axe  raised  high, 
And  felled  those  haughty-  gazers  at  the  sky. 
'Tis  long  since  noble  Wheelock's  kindly  voice 
Directed  those  who  made  of  wisdom  choice. 
Full  eighteen  whites,  six  Indians  he  brought; 
'Mid  heavy  works  and  trials  these  he  taught 
To  read,  to  write,  but  best  to  be  a  man ; 
They  lived  in  humble  ways :  a  saw-mill  ran . 

A  thousand  snows  have  on  thy  bosom  lain, 
A  thousand  suns  have  burned  them  off  again. 
And  here,  where  once  a  forest  vast  was  seen 
Expands  beneath  the  stars  our  college  green. 
The  hush  of  night  a  lonely  air  distils. 
But  happiness  my  soul  awakes  and  thrills, 
As  falls  the  moonlight  on  our  elm-edged  ground 
Where  manly  hearts  are  e'er  united  found. 


Fletcher  Harper  Swift,  '98. 


f      o      o     « 


THE   STUDENTS    VISION  55 

Brave  Wheelock,  Webster,  Choate,  and  many  more 
Have  trod,  as  I  do  now,  this  shining  floor. 
They  hourly  come  in  all  their  strength  to  mind ; 
Departing,  leave  their  presence  yet  behind. 
How  many  feet  have  trod  this  glist'ning  plain. 
How  many  here  will  never  come  again : 
Then  let  us  strive  to  be  as  they  were  then, 
And,  striving,  be  what  Dartmouth  knows  as  MEN. 

F.  H.  Swift.  '98. 


The  STUDENT'S  Vision. 

PE  sleeps ;  no  care 
Is  in  his  youthful  mind, 
And  softly  through  his  wavy  hair 

The  early  morning  sunbeams  wind, 
And  weave  a  halo,  such  as  masters  old 
Have  limned  above  the  virgin's  hair  of  gold. 

He  sleeps ;  'mid  dreams 

There  breaks  a  sudden  sound. 
And  shivering,  to  him  it  seems 

A  hundred  demons  howl  around. 
And  as  he  tries  to  break  the  awful  spell 
He  wakes;  he  groans — it  is  the  chapel  bell. 

F.  H.  NoYES.  '97. 


S6  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


After  Sunset. 

PANOVER  has  two  exteriors  each  year,  as  distinct  as 
the  two  coats  of  a  rabbit.  There  is  the  long  event 
introduced  by  the  terror-bringing  call  for  foot-ball, 
and  ushered  out  by  the  whirl  of  Commencement;  and 
then  follows  that  calm,  lonely,  beautiful  time  of  the  sum- 
mer vacation.  The  student  who  knows  only  the  first, 
never  has  gained  a  half  conception  of  the  college  town. 
He  must  come  back  when  the  crickets  are  first  beginning 
to  rasp  out  their  mournful  monotones  from  the  grass- 
tufts,  and  mope  for  an  evening  on  the  steps  of  Dart- 
mouth Hall,  before  he  can  claim  to  be  closely  acquainted 
with  Hanover.  There  is  just  enough  mist  clinging  half- 
perceptibly  to  the  campus,  just  enough  after-glow  in  the 
west,  just  enough  of  a  threat  of  the  full  moon  in  the 
east,  to  invite  one's  recollection  to  wander;  and  thus, 
all  through  the  hush  of  the  evening,  while  the  day's 
sounds  are  giving  place  to  those  of  the  night,  the  alum- 
nus on  the  stone  steps  hears  voices  to  w^hich  other  ears 
are  deaf,  and  sees  sights  which  fail  the  few  who  are 
abroad.  Long,  weird  cries  again  rouse  the  energy  of  the 
Freshmen,  gathering  near  the  "Gym"  with  something 
mysterious  tucked  away  under  the  coat  of  a  leader. 
Under  the  windows  again  sounds  the  "Oh-h  Jack!"  — 
that  strange  call,  with  the  prolonged  and  mellow  dron- 
ing of  the  "oh,"  and    the   rifle-like   explosion    of  the 


AFTER   SUNSET  57 

"Jack."  A  grand-stand  and  a  crowd,  too ;  a  tumult  of 
lusty  shouting,  and  then  a  long  suspense ;  one  last  yell, 
one  mass  of  surging  men,  —  and  then  the  bell  and  horns. 
Through  the  shadows  a  solitary  form  rushes  along  the 
sidewalk,  while  the  bell  above  tolls  dismally;  his  pace 
increases,  the  bell  never  falters,  and  he  disappears  under 
the  low  arch  just  as  the  bell  strikes  its  doleful  double- 
stroke.  This  was  one  of  the  men  who  "sleeps  o' nights." 
And  then  a  long  line  of  figures  keeps  stead\'  pace  over 
that  same  walk.  They  enter  the  door.  Finally  the 
notes  of ' '  Amesbury  "  come  floating  out : 

"  Our  life  is  a  dream. 
Our  time  as  a  stream 
Ghdes  swiftly  away." 

And  once,  before  the  dampness  drives  the  careless  alum- 
nus to  his  close  room,  there  passes  before  him  the  face 
and  figure  of  Ned — Ned,  the  fellow^  w^hom  few  of  the  men 
liked.  The  faculty  said  he  w^asn't  strong.  But  he  had  a 
heart  in  him  as  kind  as  the  heart  of  a  mother.  And  they 
laid  him  aw^ay  in  a  narrow^  house  of  earth,  the  other  day, 
the  first  one  of  the  class  to  go;  —  so,  perhaps,  the  fact 
that  there  was  something  like  a  lump  of  lead  in  the  old 
graduate's  throat  as  he  walked  away,  will  be  thought  no 
weakness, — for,  after  all,  though  few  can  reason,  all  can 
feel ;  and  this  common  lot  of  pain  and  loss  makes  us  all 
close  kindred  in  the  long  run.  Yes.  indeed,  there  are  two 
phases  to  the  college  town  among  the  hills !  Happy  and 
sad  are  those  w^ho  can  live  over  by  memory  the  tumtdt 
of  one  amid  the  repose  of  the  other. 

O.  S.  Davis,  '89. 


S8  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 


Thetford  Sketches. 

"LXJIDOW  JOHNSON,  who  was  postmistress  in  the 
little  Tillage,  was  tintisually  long  in  distributing 
the  small  pile  of  mail  that  had  just  come  in  from  the 
south.  The  sevev  or  eight  farmers  who  crowded  the 
"office,"  were  discussing  loudly  the  relative  weight  of 
two  pair  of  oxen,  and  vainly  trying  to  decide  how  much 
corn  had  *'  riz  sence  'lection."  In  one  corner  of  the  room^ 
and  watching  the  open  fire,  sat  a  j^oung  girl,  perhaps 
eighteen,  though  she  appeared  much  younger.  At  last 
all  of  the  papers  were  distributed  among  the  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  boxes  which  com'posed  the  post-office,  and 
Widow  Johnson  exclaimed : 

"  Well,  that's  the  biggest  mail  I've  had  yet.  One  could 
tell  it  was  nigh  Christmas.  There  was  seventeen  letters, 
and  most  as  many  papers.  No,  Deacon  Thompson,  your 
Hanover  Gazette  didn't  come.    It's  queer,  isn't  it?" 

"Wa'al,  'tis  queer,"  said  Deacon  Thompson,  as  he 
stroked  his  long,  white  beard;  ''it  hain't  missed  afore 
for  nigh  onto  a  year.  And  just  when  I  want  to  know 
the  news.  too.  I  hear  that  Charlie  Green  has  sold  that 
cow  of  his." 

Just  then,  Tilda  Higgins,  who  had  been  quietly  waiting 
her  turn  by  the  fireplace,  came  up,  and  Widow  Johnson 
Said,  as  she  handed  Tilda  her  father's  Gazette  and  a 
postal,  "That's  one  of  them  big  postal  cards  from  Joe 


Falls  of  the  Conan^tzcvr'. 


c    c     c    c 


THETFORD  SKETCHES  59 

Brown  in  Dartmouth.    Joe  says  that  he 's  coming  up  to 
spend  Christmas.     'Spose  you  are  glad.  Tilda  ?  " 

Tilda  did  not  answer,  but  blushed  profusely  as  she 
read  the  postal  which  Widow  Johnson  had  just  "glanced 
at,"  as  she  said,  "to  see  if  any  one  was  dead."  Joe 
Brown's  father's  farm  was  next  to  the  Higgins's,  and 
Joe  and  Tilda  had  made  mud  pies  together,  and  had  had 
the  measles  at  the  same  time.  But  now  Joe  was  in  Dart-« 
mouth  college,  and  every  one  in  the  little  village  looked 
up  to  Joe  as  the  embodiment  of  all  that  was  great.  To 
be  sure,  Joe  was  only  a  freshman,  but,  to  Tilda,  and,  in 
fact,  to  all.  freshman  and  senior  were  alike.  Of  course, 
it  was  only  a  friendship  that  existed  between  Joe  and 
Tilda,  still  Tilda  couldn't  help  blushing  whenever  any 
one  mentioned  Joe  in  her  presence. 


It  was  the  next  day  after  Christmas.  It  had  been 
bleak  and  cold,  and  Joe  had  spent  his  time  in  telling  his 
father  and  mother  strange  stories  of  college  life,  and  in 
eating  apples. 

Just  before  dark  Tilda's  little  brother  Sam  was  seen 
coming  "'cross  lots."  Joe  met  him  at  the  door  with, 
"Hullo!  Sammy;  how's  Tilda?"  "Oh,  Tilda's  all 
right,"  said  Sam,  "and  she  says  as  how  she  wants  to 
have  you  come  over  and  pop  com  tonight.  You'll 
come?" 

"Of  course  I'U  come,  if  Tilda  wants  me  to,"  replied 
Joe. 

Early  that  evening  Joe  took  the  well-worn  path  across 


60  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

the  fields  to  Tilda's.  As  he  passed  the  window  he  saw 
Tilda  sitting  with  her  mother,  sewing, 

"Hullo!  Joe,"  said  Tilda,  as  he  came  in,  "I'm  so 
glad  you  came,  'cause  it 's  terribly  lonesome  these  long 
evenings." 

"Darning  stockings,  I  see,"  replied  Joe,  as  he  took  up 
Tilda's  work. 

.  "Why,  Joe,"  said  Tilda,  "that's  one  of  those  society 
panels  that  you  asked  rae  to  make  for  you.  Don't  you 
think  it 's  pretty  ?  Tell  us  about  how  you  joined  that 
ftmny-named  society.  Do  they  really  have  a  goat,  and 
did  they  brand  you,  Joe  ?  " 

Joe  then  told  Tilda  all  about  college  and  the  college 
town.  How  near  he  came  to  getting  lost  the  first  day, 
and  finally  about  his  initiation  into  the  Pi  Kappa  Pi 
society.  It  was  nine  o'clock  before  they  knew  it,  and  no 
corn  was  popped.  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Higgins  and  Sammy 
all  retired,  and  left  Joe  and  Tilda  to  pop  their  com 
together. 

They  sat  in  perfect  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  till  the 
snapping  of  the  com  in  the  popper  sounded  louder  than 
the  beating  of  Joe's  heart.  At  length,  as  Joe  filled  the 
popper  again,  he  began  to  talk  ramblingly  about  the 
weather,  his  chum  in  college,  and  a  girl  he  met  last  sum- 
mer. Evidently  Joe  was  uneasy.  He  had  known  Tilda 
a  long  time,  and  she  knew  it.  But  did  she  know  that  a 
freshman  was  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  some  one? 
When  Joe  had  led  the  conversation  up  to  the  right  point, 
and  the  corn-popping  was  at  its  height,  he  said,  ner- 
vously,  "Say,  Tilda,  it's  strange,  isn't  it,  how  com 


THBTFORD    SKETCHES  61 

"Why,  they  just  pop,"  replied  Tilda. 

Joe's  heart  failed  him  at  this  seeming  rebuff,  but  he 
was  soon  ready  for  another  attempt.  "  We  have  known 
each  other  a  long  time,  haven''t  we,  Tilda  ?  "  said  he. 

"We  have,  that's  a  fact,"  answered  Tilda,  "but  I've 
known  Tom  Wiggins  longer." 

Tilda  did  not  seem  to  realize,  in  the  least,  that  Joe  was 
trying  to  discover  the  way  the  com  popped,  and  always 
answered  with  some  commonplace  remark  his  most 
pointed  questions.  Finally  Joe  burst  out  with,  "Tilda, 
I  want  to  tell  you  something  before  I  go  about "  — 

"  Oh,  do  n't  bother.  Joe ;  you  can  tell  me  all  about  that 
foot-ball  rush  tomorrow  night,  when  w^e  have  lots  of 
time;  let's  just  talk  now." 

Joe  was  unusually  cool  when  he  said  good-night  soon 
after,  and  only  remarked,  as  they  stood  in  the  door- 
way, that  he  should  have  to  return  to  college  the  next 
morning. 


At  ten  o'clock,  the  next  morning,  the  twelve  by  fifteen 
station  was  well  filled  with  passengers  waiting  for  the 
down  train,  which  was  due  at  10.15.  Mr.  Higgins  was 
there  with  a  box  of  butter  to  ship,  and  Widow  Johnson 
had  just  run  over  from  the  post-office  to  bring  her 
basket  of  eggs,  which  she  sent  off  each  morning.  Joe 
Brown  was  alone  with  his  thoughts  and  his  small 
trunk,  and  was  feeling  very  lonesome  after  the  failure  of 
the  evening  before.  He  had  just  dropped  a  penny  in  the 
slot  of  one  of  those  weighing  machines,  and  was  about 
to  step  on,  when  he  saw  Tilda  coming  down  the  road 


62  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

toward  the  station.  Here  is  another  chance,  thought 
he,  and,  forgetting  all  about  his  weight,  he  walked  out 
to  meet  her.  He  had  only  three  minutes  to  do  it  in, 
but  he  would  make  another  try.  By  the  time  they  had 
reached  the  station  again  the  train  had  drawn  in.  As 
they  walked  toward  the  rear  platform,  Joe  said,  in  a 
trembling  voice,  "Come,  Tilda,  you  know  what  I  was 
driving  at  last  night  while  we  were  popping  com.  I 
was  trying  to  pop-pop  the  question.  Can't  we  be 
engaged?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  Joe,"  answered  Tilda.  "  I  wondered, 
last  evening,  why  you  didn't  speak  of  it.  Father  won't 
know  anything  about  it;  he's  loading  his  butter  into 
the  car.    It 's  just  lovely,  is  n't  it  ?    Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

E.  O.  Grover,  '94. 


From  the  Ruins  of  the  Old  Pine. 


MATER,  more  than  loved  of  me, 
J    Who  from  its  planting  watched  this  tree ; 
The  mighty  pine  may  prostrate  lie. 
May  bow  its  aged  head  and  die, — 
The  years  have  only  youth  for  thee. 

F.  L.  Pattee,  '87. 


Fred  Lewis  PATffis,"8^/ 


c     <    c  /£    I 

'■    »  c '  •  : 


MOUNT   DESERT  63 


Mount  Desert  from  the  Sea. 


ROUGH,  rude,  rugged  range  of  hills, 
Uprising  from  the  sea ! 
With  long  forgotten  rapture  thrills 
My  heart  at  sight  of  thee. 

On  old  Green  Mountain's  rocky  crown 

Would  I  could  stand  again, 
And  gaze  the  waters  up  and  down 

That  lave  the  feet  of  Maine — 

Once  more  could  climb  up  Newport's  side. 

From  care  and  trouble  free, 
And  watch  the  gallant  war-ships  ride, 

Columbia's  argosy. 

Within  thy  virgin  woods  and  bowers, 

0,  fair  Mount  Desert  isle, 
I  'd  pluck  again  thy  choicest  flowers, 

And  bask  in  Nature's  smile. 

Farewell,  sweet  isle,  thy  shores  recede 

From  my  reluctant  gaze. 
Though  I  must  leave  thee,  thou  would'st  lead 

Me  back  to  happy  days. 

A.  O.  Caswell,  '93. 


ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  Old  Pine. 

BRAVE  old  Pine,  the  swiftly  passing  years 
Have  hushed  the  music  of  the  sweet  refrain 
That  breathed  thy  whispering  boughs.     It  is  in  vain 
We  sadly  mourn  thy  death.    Thou  hast  no  peers 
To  claim  our  love,  and  memory  reveres, 
And  in  her  inmost  shrine  will  e'er  retain 
The  imprint  of  thy  life.    May  we  attain 
The  grandeur  in  our  lives  of  thy  long  years. 
Thy  dark,  green   boughs    festooned  with  whirling 

throngs 
Of  snow-flakes  soft,  a  robe  of  beauty  wore, 
And  Dartmouth  chose  the  glorious  green  and  white. 
The  echo  of  a  hundred  parting  songs 
Thy  branches  flung.    With  hearts  too  full  for  more, 
Old  Pine,  we  leave  thee  with  one  last  "  Good-bye." 

Le.  B.  M.  Huntington,  '98. 


*  « ,       .010- 


DARTMOUTH    BUILDINGS  IN  1851  65 


The  Dartmouth  Buildings  in  1851. 

TT  is  an  unsettled  question  whether  or  not  the  quality 

of  a  person's  work  is  necessarily  affected  by  his  moral 
character.  The  evidence  of  the  accompanying  picture 
seems  to  be  in  the  negative ;  for,  while  it  is  indisputably 
superior  to  that  of  Mr.  Ticknor,  it  was  engraved  — 
in  1851,  from  a  daguerreotype — by  a  famous  counter- 
feiter, C.  Meadows,  better  known  as  "  Bristol  Bill,"  then 
serving  a  sentence  in  Windsor  jail. 

The  principal  change  in  the  yard,  since  the  time  of  the 
preceding  view,  had  been  the  erection  of  Reed  Hall.  The 
second  story  of  this  building  was  occupied  by  the  libra- 
ries of  the  college  and  the  two  societies,  the  United  Fra- 
ternity^ and  the  Social  Friends,  which,  together,  at  the 
time  ol  its  construction,  numbered  only  about  fifteen 
thousand  volumes.  These  libraries  were  entirely  sepa- 
rate until  1874,  and  were  not  united  on  the  shelves  for 
five  years  after  that. 

Thornton  and  Wentworth  Halls  appear  here — more 
accurately  than  in  the  lithograph  —  as  unpainted.  They 
were  first  washed  yellow  about  1869,  as  was  Reed  at 
the  time  of  its  construction;  a  better  taste  has  since 
given  all  three  more  suitable  tints.  Dartmouth,  appa- 
rently, was  always  white  until  about  1865. 

The  representation  of  the  yard  appears  accurate.    The 


06  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

fence,  evidently,  had  been  again  changed.  The  road  be- 
side Wentworth  remained  until  the  building  of  Rollins 
Chapel  rendered  desirable  its  removal  a  few  rods  north- 
ward. The  tree  conspicuous  in  the  foreground  is  the 
**  Webster  Elm,"  even  then  giving  promise  of  its  present 
magnificence.  As  the  picture  partly  indicates,  at  this 
time  the  rain  had  hollowed  out  the  heart  from  the  junc- 
tion ol  the  limbs,  and  made  for  itself  on  one  side  a  place 
of  egress.  Somewhat  later,  Prof.  Blaisdel  and  Prof. 
Hubbard  filled  the  whole  cavity  with  brick  and  mortar. 
The  common,  here  first  appearing,  has,  of  course,  an 
interesting  history.  Over  it — where  now  is  the  present 
main  path — ran  for  years  the  old  turnpike.  Its  owner- 
ship was,  almost  from  the  beginning,  a  matter  of  dispute 
between  the  town  and  college.  Among  other  things,  the 
villagers  long  claimed  and  exercised  the  right  to  pasture 
there  their  cows.  This  custom  the  students  bitterly  re- 
sented,—although,  as  late  as  1820,  some  of  their  own 
number  were  accustomed  to  keep  those  useful  animals 
— and  very  often,  about  Commencement  time,  the  Fresh- 
men and  Sophomores  would  drive  away  the  whole  herd, 
sometimes  to  a  spot  three  or  four  miles  distant,  some- 
times even  to  the  basement  of  Dartmouth  Hall.  At  last, 
in  1835,  the  disputed  territory  was  levelled,  planted  with 
potatoes,  and  surrounded  by  a  temporary  fence.  This 
latter  the  dissatisfied  among  the  townspeople  tore 
down,  but  the  next  year  certain  individuals  of  the  fac- 
ulty and  town  clubbed  together  and  erected  a  perma- 
nent one.  That  summer  the  Common  served  for  a  grain 
field,  but  ever  since  it  has  been  devoted  to  sports,  and, 
until  the  present  athletic  field  was  prepared,  in  1893,  it 
was  the  regular  college  base-ball  and  foot-ball  ground.    . 


THE   WAY  IT   FliEL^  67 

It  was  at  just  about  this  time, — in  1852, — that  the 
second  of  the  associated  departments,  the  Chandler 
School,  was  established,  by  a  bequest  from  Abiel  Chand- 
ler, of  Walpole,  N.  H.  In  the  second  "academy  "  build- 
ing it  continued  a  separate  existence  until  its  consolida- 
tion with  the  academical  department  in  1893. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96. 


The  Way  It  Feels. 
I. 

TT  makes  a  fellow  blue 
^  To  flunk! 

I  thought  I  'd  rush  him,  too, 

Then  flunk ! 
But  now  I  '11  stop  this  play, 
And  buckle  down  and  say, 
I  '11  rush  him  ev  'ry  day ; 
Not  flunk ! 

n. 

I  'm  happy  as  they  come, 

A  rush ! 
I  'm  not  a  little  glum, 

A  rush ! 
Could  read  the  thing  at  sight. 
The  one  I  plugged  last  night. 
It  makes  you  feel  'bout  right, 

To  rush ! 

G.  A.  Green,  '98. 


68  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


Pastels  in  Prose. 

In  the  Park  at  Midnight. 

The  ragged  remnant  of  the  Old  Pine  gazes  tenderly  at 

me  through  the  nocturnal  light  : 

Like  a  huge  sentinel  wrapt  in  his  gray  mantle  the 
tower  stands  guard  upon  the  hill-top.  With  its  dark 
moon-shadow,  which  rests  upon  the  grass-grown  rocks, 
it  reaches  out  to  the  darker  shadows  of  the  evergreens. 

Arm-in-arm  in  each  other 's  shade,  the  trees  stand  rest- 
ful and  asleep  in  the  silence. 

You  can  hear  their  gentle  breathing  as  the  breezes  play 
among  their  tasseled  tops. 

The  ragged  remnant  of  the  Old  Pine  gazes  tenderly  at 
me  through  the  nocturnal  light  : 

Like  skeletons  of  former  ghosts  the  summer  houses  are 
raised  indistinct  against  the  orient  sky. 

Winding  snake-like  among  the  shadows  of  the  mingled 
leafage,  the  graveled  walks  run  smooth  and  still. 

With  open  arms  the  Bema  embraces  the  lingering 
moonlight,  and  reveals  its  grassy  plot  of  ground  in  the 
darkness  of  its  overhanging  rocks. 

Hiding,  as  it  were,  in  its  own  shadow,  the  Grotto 
peers  out  into  the  mellow  moonlight.  Only  the  grim 
blackness  of  its  own  visage  is  visible  in  its  rocky  cavern. 


PASTELS  IN  PROSE  69 

The  ragged  remnant  of  the  Old  Pine  gazes  tenderly  at 

me  through  the  nocturnal  light : 

But  a  beauty  not  bom  of  color  dwells  in  this  solitude. 

A  beauty  in  black.  A  blending  of  moonlight  and 
shade,  that  makes  the  meanest  object  lovely.  A  half  in- 
distinctness, which  lends  a  grandeur  to  the  towers  of  the 
chapel  and  the  church,  as  they  rise  into  the  low  light  of 
the  moon  above  the  campus. 

The  surrounding  hills  are  felt  only  by  the  oppressive 
blackness  of  their  invisible  forms.  We  can  see  the  ferns 
and  grasses  fan  with  gentle  breath  the  unopened  blos- 
soms of  tomorrow  at  our  feet. 

But,  hark !  The  old  clock  in  the  gilded  dome  of  Dart- 
mouth Hall  is  telling  in  sounding  numbers  Time's  mid- 
night beads. 

The  ragged  remnant  of  the  Old  Pine  gazes  tenderly  at 
me  through  the  nocturnal  light : 

E.  0.  Groyer,  '94. 


70  ECHOES  FROM   DARTMOUTH 


Farewell. 

DARTMOUTH  HALL,  that,  gravely  smiling, 
Gav  'st  us  thy  welcome  3-ears  ago, 
And  watched  us,  drowsy  hours  beguiling, 

Stretched  on  thy  grassy  lawn  below ; 
We  pray  of  thee  a  parting  blessing, 

Our  first,  our  firmest  college  friend, — 
We  come,  a  thousand  faults  confessing. 

To  crave  thy  pardon  at  the  end. 

And  thou,  O  Pine,  of  Dartmouth's  story 

The  type,  in  thy  rough  majesty. 
Here,  in  the  evening 's  dying  glory, 

We  bid  a  last  farewell  to  thee. 
With  solemn  care,  yet  ever  tender, 

Thou  gazest  on  the  student  throng ; 
Our  guardian,  to  thee  we  render 

The  parting  tribute  of  our  song. 

Ye,  too,  0  hills  and  vales,  now  l3ring 

Half  in  the  shadow,  half  in  sun. 
We  say  farewell  to  you,  half  sighing, 

And  yet  half  glad  that  all  is  done. 
For  joy  is  mingling  with  the  sorrow, — 

To  learn  was  not  the  whole  of  life ; 
We  greet  a  freer,  stronger  morrow, 

A  morrow  rich  in  earnest  strife. 

K.  Knowlton,  '94. 


Kent  Knowlton,  '^4..^ 


3      "»       J      , 


f         o 


/   ' 


WITH   THE  DAWNING  71 


With  the  Dawning. 

JHHE  hanging  lamp,  exhausted  by  its  long  night's 
1  vigil,  gleamed  fitfully  through  its  rose-colored  shade. 
Around  the  heavy  draperies  at  the  windows  the  pale 
light  of  early  dawn  stole  in  sufficiently  to  reveal  the  dis- 
order of  the  room.  Half-burned  cigarettes,  and  cards, 
thrown  down  impatiently  in  the  heat  of  play,  strewed 
the  floor.  A  heap  of  empty  bottles  in  one  comer  matched 
the  overflowing  box  of  ivory  chips  upon  the  centre-table, 
around  which  were  grouped  significantly  a  quartette  of 
empty  chairs.  On  the  low,  broad  sofa,  his  ulster  thrown 
carelessly  about  him,  a  curly-haired  boy  was  sleeping 
heavily. 

From  his  perch  on  the  cushioned  window-seat  Dick 
Ernst  regarded  the  scene  with  manifest  disfavor.  The 
condition  of  the  room  was,  in  fact,  in  striking  contrast 
to  that  of  its  owner,  who,  outwardly,  showed  scarcely 
a  trace  of  the  night 's  dissipation.  From  his  dark,  rich 
smoking  jacket  to  his  neatly  slippered  feet  he  was  quite 
as  nattily  presentable  as  when,  early  the  previous  even- 
ing, he  had  met  the  president's  daughter  on  the  street 
and  strolled  home  with  her,  the  envy  and  admiration  of 
many  an  under-classman.  Even  his  handsome,  boyish 
face  appeared  none  the  worse  for  the  sleepless  hours 
spent,  save  for  the  dark  shadows  just  beneath  his  brown 
eyes. 

But,  however  fresh  and  vigorous  he  might  seem,  Dick 


72  BCHOBS  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

was  compelled  to  acknowledge  to  himself  tliat  he  felt 
like  a  wreck.  "He  lives  a  week  in  a  day,"  some  of  his 
friends  had  said  of  him,  and  the  results  were  rapidly  be- 
coming manifest  to  himself,  if  not  to  others.  His  head 
felt  as  if  a  giant  hand  was  grasping  it,  as  in  a  vise, 
while  dwarfish  demons  ran  red-hot  needles  through  his 
temples.  The  lassitude,  that  comes  with  long-continued 
loss  of  sleep,  made  him  lie  back  wearily  upon  the  cush- 
ions, and  his  hand  trembled  so  that  he  could  hardly  fill 
his  meerschaum  from  the  china  jar  at  his  side. 

He  w^as  not  inclined  to  sleep,  so,  scarcely  know^ing 
what  to  do,  he  drifted  into  thinking  of  himself  and  his 
college  course.  Almost  four  years  ago  he  had  come  to 
Stonehenge  with  plenty  of  money  and  a  good  fit. 
Brought  up  in  isolation,  however,  by  an  eccentric  uncle, 
he  knew  as  little  of  the  living,  rushing  world,  as  the 
wiry  pony  he  rode  about  the  ranch.  In  his  first  year  at 
college  he  had  surprised  his  instructors  by  the  steady  ex- 
cellence, and  occasional  brilliancy  ot  his  work,  while,  out 
on  the  campus,  his  mates  had  learned  to  respect  his 
agiHty,  strength,  and  ready  adaptability. 

But  increasing  popularity  brought  increased  tempta- 
tions. Just  a  glass  of  beer  with  the  boys  had  led,  by 
senior  j^ear,  to  the  best  stocked  corner  cupboard  in  col- 
lege, while  the  mildly  exciting  penny-ante  had  grow^n 
into  a  game  that  had  made  No.  21  long  a  favorite  scene 
for  sub  rosa  stories.  In  all  the  county  round,  too, 
Dick 's  more  or  less  shadj'  exploits  had  made  his  name  as 
familiar  as  the  college  president's.  And  now,  on  this 
wintry  morning  of  his  senior  year,  it  was  not  a  bright 
picture  that  he  looked  back  upon,  but  a  dreary  vista  of 


WITH   THE  DAWNING  73 

wasted  opportunities,  worse  than  wasted  talents,  days, 
months,  and  years  of  viciotis  idling.  An  aching  head,  an 
empty  pocket,  the  boon  companionship  of  rascals  and 
good-for-nothings,  these  were  the  results. 

He  thought  of  the  men  who  had  just  left  him,  and  re- 
viled himself  for  descending  to  their  level.  De  Forest 
Davidson,  christened  Patrick  Leary,  proprietor  of  Davi- 
son 's  Daisies,  at  the  opera  house  for  one  week,  had  been 
ushered  in  by  his  new-made  friend,  Tom  Glynn,  the  hotel 
clerk.  "Just  to  make  up  the  game,"  Starr,  the  law 
student,  had  slipped  in ;  a  pale-faced  youth,  whose  past 
record  was  as  doubtfully  suggestive  as  his  handling  of 
the  cards.  Ernst  was  naturally  dainty  and  fastidious, 
if  not  pure  and  moral,  and  the  constant  oaths  and  vile 
jests  of  these  vagabonds  disgusted  him  even  in  remem- 
brance. 

"Anyway,"  he  said,  half  defiantly,  "I  've  harmed  only 
myself.    It 's  no  one 's  business." 

The  sleeping  boy  on  the  sofa  sat  upright.  "Full  to 
aces,"  he  cried,  triumphantly.  "What,  four  deuces?" 
And  he  sank  back  with  a  groan  to  his  restless  slumbers. 
The  troubled  look  in  Dick  Ernst's  eyes  grew  darker. 
Since  entering  Stonehenge  the  year  before,  "  Little  Bran- 
don," thrown  in  his  way  by  chance,  had  followed  in  his 
footsteps,  copying  his  words,  deeds,  and  even  appear- 
ance, so  far  as  he  was  able.  Dick,  on  his  side,  petted  the 
boy  in  a  careless  way,  and,  unthinkingly,  gave  him  a 
flying  start  toward  the  goal  of  ruin. 

He  had  spent  the  last  vacation  with  the  Brandons  at 
their  Sorrento  summer  home;  and  there  he  had  met  Her. 
Every  incident  of  those  happy  days  came  back  to  him  as 


74,  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

he  gazed  across  the  room  at  the  sleeping  boy.  She  had 
avoided  him  at  first,  with  the  instinctive  dislike  a  pure 
woman  always  feels  towards  a  ron^.  But  his  winning 
charm,  so  potent  when  he  chose,  soon  made  her  dream 
of  influencing  his  life  for  the  better ;  and  then  the  result 
was  inevitable.  The  night  before  he  left  he  had  told  her 
the  old,  old  story,  amid  the  thundering  of  the  surf,  and 
she  had  listened  wath  a  blush  and  smile  of  happiness 
that,  for  a  moment,  drove  every  baser  impulse  from  his 
nature. 

He  cursed  himself  for  his  folly  now,  as  he  thought  of 
his  neglect  of  her  of  late,  and  of  the  evil  influence  he 
had  exerted  over  the  brother  she  loved.  Impulsively  he 
strode  to  the  window  and  pulled  back  the  heavy  hang- 
ings. The  morning  sun,  grown  rosy,  warm,  and  bright, 
flooded  the  room  with  its  brilliancy.  It  illumined  Her 
picture  on  the  opposite  wall,  and  gave  the  clean,  delicious 
face  the  tinge  of  life.  Dick,  exhausted  and  unnerved, 
imagined  that  her  eyes  followed  him  everywhere  about 
the  room,  with  a  look  half  sorrowful,  half  reproachful, 
but  wholly  loving. 

Suddenly  the  bonds  that  his  pride  and  vice  had  drawn 
around  him  were  burst  by  his  passion.  He  fell  on  his 
knees  before  the  picture,  and,  with  his  head  buried  in  his 
hands,  prayed  Her  God  for  forgiveness  and  for  help. 
Little  Brandon,  awakened  by  the  brilliant  light,  opened 
his  eyes  in  astonishment  at  the  scene.  Then  he  turned  to- 
ward the  wall  and  wept,  so  quietly  that  Dick  never  knew. 

So  a  new  and  sweeter  chapter  in  two  life  stories  began 
with  the  dawning. 

H.  C.  Pearson,  '93. 


3  J  J  : 


>  J  3  3 

3    '> 


J 
>      J 


>  J  3  J 

,  3  >  J  : 


Wilder  Dwight  Quint,  '87. 


TO  AN  HONORED  CANE.  T0 


To  AN  Honored  Cane. 

n^HOU  portly  stick  of  genial  j'ellow, 
1     Full  many  a  pave  thou  'st  trod  with  me ; 
Staunch  to  thy  hickory  core,  old  fellow, 
Friend  from  the  days  that  used  to  be. 

Under  the  elms  of  our  Mother  royal 
Four  score  of  knives  thy  shell  did  hack. 

Thou  touched  the  hands  of  a  phalanx  loyal, 
For  "Simp," and  "  Biler,"  and  "Doc,"  and  "Quack," 

And  "  Sam,"  and  "  Bill,"  and  the  whole  brave  party 

Lent  to  thee  some  of  their  spirits  rare ; 
Essence  of  all  art  thou,  my  hearty, 

Swelling  with  pride  in  thy  comer  there. 

Many  a  midnight  tramp  thou  'st  lightened, 

Chatting  of  dear-remembered  hours ; 
Many  the  gloomy  spirit,  frightened 

Out  from  my  heart  by  thy  kindly  powers. 

So  in  the  years  when  my  footsteps  falter 
Be  thou  the  strength  that  my  days  shall  lack. 

Bom  of  the  ties  no  fate  can  alter, 
Of  "Simp,"  and  "Biler,"  and  "Doc,"  and  "Quack." 

W.  D.  Quint,  '87. 


76  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


ASCUTNEY. 

MONO  the  hills  that  girt  around 

The  college  and  the  college  town, 
Lies  blue  Ascutney's  hazy  peak, 
Where  dreamy  thoughts  and  fancies  seek 
To  fill  each  grotto  with  a  shrine 
Peopled  from  an  unknown  time. 
Across  the  plain  from  college  halls 
Thy  sunset  beauty  holds,  enthralls, 
And  seems  a  calm,  complete  ideal — 
A  master's  painting  'mid  the  real. 
No  rugged  slopes  or  grandeur  bold 
Command  the  traveller  to  behold. 
But.  softer,  gentler  strokes  of  time 
Have  made  of  thee  a  gem  sublime. 

W.  B.  Plumer,  '96. 


WrLLIAM  Blaisdell  Plumer,  '96. 


THE   OLD  SNOWSHOBS  77 


The  Old  Snowshoes. 


n^HERE  they  hang  above  the  mantel ; 
1      Over  them  a  rifle  shines ; 

Underneath,  a  leather  knapsack 
Brings  a  dream  of  other  times. 

Gone  the  study  walls  and  windows, 
Gone  the  glowing  student  lamp ; 

Come  the  swaying  branches  sifting 
Moonlight  on  a  hunter's  camp. 

Once  again  I  hear  the  whisper 
Of  the  wind  through  mountain  trees, 

See  the  sparks  from  crackling  embers 
Floating  upward  in  the  breeze. 

From  the  valley  comes  the  piercing 
Echo  of  the  black-cat's  cry, 

Rising  toward  the  blazing  planet 
Marching  down  the  western  sky, 

"When  the  winter  sunrise  gilds  the 

Granite  crest  of  Bigelow 
Over  still  Megantic  marshes 

Buried  in  Canadian  snow, 


•78  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

Once  again  the  snowshoes  rustle, 

And  the  strength  of  frosty  air 
Thrills  along  the  hunter's  muscles, 

Sets  the  warm  blood  leaping  there. 

Through  the  ice  of  old  Umbagog, 
Catching  salmon  from  the  shoals ; 

By  the  birchy  shores  of  Suncook, 
Broiling  partridge  on  the  coals ; 

Stalking  moose  along  the  Churchill, 
Where  the  hoot-owl  hoarsely  calls 

Through  the  spruce  and  hemlock  forests 
As  the  dusk  of  evening  falls. 

All  these  forest  scenes  have  faded  — 
Like  the  morning  mists  they  go ; 

Study  walls  are  dim  in  shadow, 
For  the  lamp  is  burning  low. 

There  the  snowshoes  high  are  hanging, 

Dry  and  dusty  on  the  wall, 
And  the  hour  of  midnight's  sounding 

Loudly  over  roof  and  wall. 

P.  E.  Stanley.  '93. 


>  J  3   > 


^^         '"T 


Isaac  Joslin  Cox.  '96, 


HIS  DECISION  79 


His  Decision. 

U  C'AY,  John,  are  you  going  to  set  'em  up?"  said 
George  Hanson,  laughing,  as  he  pointed  toward 
a  building  a  short  distance  away. 

John  Harlow  smiled  as  he  glanced  at  the  unique  log 
structure.  "Old  Times  Distillery  Co.,  Louisville,  Ky.," 
he  repeated,  reading  the  sign  on  the  front.  "No,  it's 
against  my  principles  to  set  the  boys  up  to  whiskey,  but 
we  '11  take  a  look  inside,  if  you  want  to." 

"All  right,  come  ahead,"  was  the  careless  reply,  as 
Hanson  started  in  the  direction  of  the  building. 

"Sold  again!"  he  ejaculated  gloomily,  as  he  entered 
it,  and  saw  from  the  quantity  of  debris  scattered  around, 
that  the  still  was  not  yet  in  operation.  "  This  is  a  great 
Fair,  isn't  it?"  he  continued.  "Here  it's  been  going 
two  weeks,  and  not  half  of  the  exhibits  are  in  position. 
Even  a  distillery  can 't  '  set  itself  up '  in  good  shape." 

"  Well,  that  pun  of  yours  doesn  't  help  matters  at  all," 
rejoined  Harlow.  "Here  comes  the  'Colonel'  himself. 
Let 's  hear  what  he 's  got  to  say  about  his  business,"  he 
added,  as  a  portly  man,  whose  countenance  clearly  pro- 
claimed his  connection  with  the  establishment,  advanced 
from  the  rear  of  the  room. 

"Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  was  his  courteous  greet- 
ing. "  I  am  very  sorry  that  my  still  is  not  in  operation 
yet,  but,  if  you  wish,  I  will  explain  the  process  as  far  as 
possible." 


80  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

"Your  old-fashioned  establishment  is  very  interesting," 
said  Harlow,  by  way  of  compliment,  when  they  had 
returned  to  their  starting-place. 

* '  Only  the  building  is  old-fashioned , ' '  corrected  the  guide . 
"The  apparatus  used  is  of  the  latest  standard  make. 
Will  you  kindly  enter  your  names  on  our  register?"  he 
added,  handing  the  pen  to  Hanson. 

* '  What  are  all  these  figures  written  after  the  addresses  ? ' ' 
asked  the  latter,  pointing  to  a  page  of  the  register. 

"Oh,  you  want  to  write  your  guess  of  the  number  of 
paid  admissions  to  the  Fair  during  the  entire  season,  in 
that  column,"  explained  the  guide,  handing  him  a  card. 
"You  see  from  our  card  that  we  offer  fifteen  barrels  of 
whiskey  to  the  one  guessing  nearest  to  the  correct 
number." 

"  Well,  here  goes  my  guess,"  said  Hanson,  as  he  recorded 
it.  "Your  turn  now,  John.  Oh,  there  isn't  any  harm 
in  it,"  seeing  that  he  hesitated. 

Harlow  took  the  pen  and  wrote  rapidly  as  his  friend 
directed. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  all  right,"  he  said  confidently  to  his 
friend  as  they  departed.  "  My  guess  was  too  large, 
anyhow." 


John  Harlow  sat  in  his  room  moodily  watching  the 
falling  snow,  which  obscured  his  view  of  the  nearest 
college  buildings. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  I  'm  to  get  money  enough 
to  come  out  square  this  term.  Father's  sick  and  can't 
help  me,  and  I  can 't  borrow  any.  Guess  I  '11  have  to 
leave  college." 


HIS  DECISION  81 

Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  a  person  beating  his  way 
along  against  the  driving  wind. 

"There  comes  George  Hanson,"  he  exclaimed.  **I 
hope  he 's  got  a  letter  for  me." 

A  moment  later  Hanson  came  to  the  door  and  tossed 
a  letter  to  Harlow,  at  the  same  time  calling  out,  "  Hallo, 
John !  there 's  a  letter  for  you." 

"  Thanks,  old  man,  won 't  you  come  in  ?  " 

"No,  I  can't  stop.  I've  got  to  plug  that  confounded 
Greek, ' '  was  Hanson's  mournful  reply  as  he  closed  the  door. 

"Louisville,  Ky.,"  said  Harlow,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
postmark,  "I  wonder  what  this  is  about." 

His  wonder  did  not  decrease  as  he  opened  the  letter 
and  read  its  contents. 

"By  Jove!"  he  burst  out  at  last.  "This  is  a  great 
note!  My  guess  was  the  nearest  right  after  all,  and  I 
get  the  fifteen  barrels  of  whiskey.  I  do  n't  know  whether 
to  call  that  a  God-send  or  not." 

A  puzzled  expression  came  on  his  face  as  he  read  the 
letter  a  second  time. 

"Fifteen  barrels  of  whiskey!  "  he  repeated  to  himself. 
"That  must  be  worth  more  than  a  thousand  dollars.  I 
won't  have  to  leave  college  after  all." 

He  became  thoughtful  again,  when  he  considered  how 
the  acceptance  of  such  a  prize  might  affect  his  standing 
among  his  college  chums. 

"Hang  it  all,"  he  cried  excitedly,  rising  from  his  chair 
and  pacing  rapidly  back  and  forth.  "They  needn't 
know  anything  about  it.  The  company  write  that  they 
will  dispose  of  it,  and  send  me  the  proceeds.  I  don't 
have  to  tell  any  one  where  the  money  came  from." 
6 


82  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

Yet  he  paused  in  his  walk,  as  he  reflected  on  what  his 
parents  wotild  say  about  the  matter.  Although  they 
would  probably  leave  the  ultimate  decision  with  him,  he 
was  too  fond  of  them  to  do  anything  which  they  might 
disapprove. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  I  shall  do.  If  1  don't  accept 
the  prize,  I  '11  have  to  leave  college,  and  if  I  do  the  folks 
at  home  won't  like  it,  aud  my  influence  in  college  will  be 
hurt.  When  1  get  the  money,  I  can  help  my  folks  and 
pay  all  my  college  bills,  too.  Isn't  that  enough  good  to 
counteract  all  the  evil  arising  from  if  ?  " 

But  it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  silence  his  scruples 
by  any  such  pretext,  although  it  was  equally  hard  for 
him  to  contemplate  the  giving  up  of  all  hopes  of  an  edu- 
cation for  which  he  had  labored  so  earnestly.  He  knew 
that  he  must  decide  upon  one  of  these  two  courses,  but 
as  the  inward  striiggle  continued  he  grew  more  and  more 
perplexed.    "What  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  groaned  aloud. 

A  determined  look  came  over  his  face.  "I  won't  do 
it,"  he  uttered  aloud. 

He  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and  rapidly  penned  a 
reply  to  the  company,  informing  them  concerning  his 
decision.  Later  that  afternoon,  when  John  Harlow 
mailed  two  letters  at  the  post  office,  one  would  not  have 
imagined  that  anything  unusual  had  occured. 

I.  J.  Cox,  '96. 


THE   OCEAN  83 


The  Ocean. 

O  ENEATH  tlie  glories  of  a  summer  sky 
J        The  mighty  ocean  lies  in  calm  repose, 
Its  waves  are  still,  and  out  upon  the  deep 
The  white-winged  ships  upon  their  missions  fly. 

A  change  comes  o'er  the  surface  of  the  deep : 
Dark  clouds  portend  the  coming  of  the  storm ; 
The  sea-gulls'  cries  reecho  far  and  wide, 
And  mariners  a  watchful  vigil  keep. 

And  now  it  breaks !    In  awful  rage  and  grand 
The  ocean  hurls  defiance  at  the  sky, 
While  vivid  lightning's  flash  and  thunder's  roar 
Reveal  the  mighty  power  of  God's  hand. 

The  storm  has  ceased.     Out  from  their  havens  glide 
The  ships,  once  more  to  fly  upon  their  way, 
While  o'er  the  waves,  in  other  voice,  the  calm 
Proclaims  again  His  power  o'er  wind  and  tide. 

W.  A.  Foster,  '95. 


84,  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  First  Historian  of  American 
Literature. 

■pj  ARTMOUTH  is  fond  of  counting  its  priorities ;  nor  is 
the  task  difficult.  A  pleasant  primacy,  thougli  per- 
haps not  a  commanding  one,  is  brought  to  mind  by  the 
recent  hanging,  among  the  portraits  of  the  alumni  in 
Wilson  Hall,  of  a  painting  of  Samuel  Lorenzo  Knapp, 
by  the  old-time  and  justly  noted  artist,  John  Vanderlyn. 
The  portrait  is,  from  the  artistic  standpoint,  one  of 
the  best  in  the  collection  of  which  it  now  becomes  a 
part ;  but  its  chief  interest  is  a  personal  one.  Knapp 
was  not  only  a  voluminous  writer,  in  general,  but  he 
was  the  first  to  produce  a  book  bearing  the  words 
"American  Literature"  on  its  title-page,  and  definitely 
professing  to  give  a  historical  account  of  that  literature. 
Of  such  works — omitting  cyclopaedias,  collections,  selec- 
tions, biographies,  etc., — there  are  now  on  my  shelves  no 
less  than  nineteen,  in  English,  German,  and  Italian,  of 
which  the  latest  bears  date  of  1894;  but  the  pioneer  in 
the  list  is  the  plainly  printed  and  soberly  bound  "Lec- 
tures on  American  Literature,  with  Remarks  on  some 
passages  of  American  History.  By  Samuel  L.  Knapp. 
Published  by  Elam  Bliss,  No.  107  Broadway.    1829." 


Charles  Francis  Richardson,  '71. 


FIRST  HISTORIAN  OF  AMERICAN  LITERATURE    85 

It  is  a  small  octavo  of  exactly  300  pages,  and  consists  of 
a  preface,  fifteen  lectures,  a  postscript,  and  an  appendix. 

Samuel  Lorenzo  Knapp,its  ambitious  writer,  was  born 
in  Newburyport,  graduated  at  Dartmouth  in  1804, 
studied  law,  edited  periodicals,  and  "wielded  a  facile 
pen"  in  the  production  of  many  books,  too  hastily  pre- 
pared, or  too  ephemeral  in  theme  to  deserve  or  attain 
any  long  life.  Of  these  the  public  has  impartially  for- 
gotten his  fiction  and  his  biographies,  save  that  it  occa- 
sionally buys  a  copy  of  his  story  of  the  career  of  his 
eccentric  fellow-townsman.  Lord  Timothy  Dexter,  of 
warming-pan  fame.  To  write  hasty  sketches  of  persons 
or  periods  was  a  favorite  pastime  of  Knapp's,  and 
these  accounts,  though  discursive  rather  than  profound, 
were  neither  unintelligent  nor  unoriginal.  Like  so  many 
Americans  of  his  day,  he  was  inclined  to  be  over-enthusi- 
astic in  his  portrayals;  but  those  were  times  when 
America's  budding  glories  were  not  nipped  by  many 
chilling  frosts  of  local  criticism,  and  Knapp  merely  fol- 
lowed the  current  custom.  He  wished  to  develop  what 
Longfellow,  in  the  title  of  his  Commencement  oration, 
just  four  years  previous,  had  called  "Native  Writers"; 
and  this  wish  was  shared  by  his  publisher,  Elam  Bliss, 
whose  name  appears  on  the  title-page  of  other  good 
books  of  the  time. 

That  the  year  1829  was  a  bad  date  in  which  to  dis- 
cuss our  literature  cannot  be  denied;  it  was  ** betwixt 
and  between  "—too  early  for  discussion  of  our  later  and 
greater  authors,  yet  just  after  some  of  them  had  made 
their  beginnings.  Knapp,  therefore,  did  not  discuss  Long- 
fellow, Emerson,  Poe,  Holmes,  Hawthorne,  or  the  histo- 


•86  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

rians:  though  he  said  something  too  mnch  concerning 
the  colonial  worthies  and  unworthies,  and  briefly  con- 
sidered such  young  men,  or  recent  celebrities,  as  Bryant, 
Cooper,  and  Irving.  Having  ample  space,  accordingly, 
he  began  these  lectures  on  American  literature  with  the 
condition  of  ancient  Britain,  and  ended  them  with  a  long 
account  of  the  history  of  American  arms  on  land  and 
sea.  But,  in  the  first  discussion,  if  his  linguistic  and 
sociological  knowledge  was  sadly  defective,  he  at  least 
connected  literature  with  race,  and  race  with  environ- 
ment; while,  in  his  three  closing  lectures,  he  found  one 
American  spirit  in  arms,  on  the  rostrum,  and  in  the 
study. 

The  style  was  quasi-Johnsonian  in  its  antitheses,  and 
certainly  Yankee  in  its  florid  laudations  or  prophecies. 
Furthermore,  as  I  have  said,  Knapp  wrote  with  facility 
de  omnibus  rebus  et  quibusclam  aliis,  and  never  seemed 
to  know  what  to  omit :  American  literature,  in  his  appa- 
rent view,  began  everywhere  and  would  never  end  any- 
where. But  there  was  method  in  his  multiplicity;  he 
connected  literature  with  life,  and  clearly  saw,  and  intel- 
ligently said,  that  the  flowering  of  a  nation  is  the  result 
of  long  causes  in  a  diversified  garden.  In  some  char- 
acterizations—  as  those  of  Bradford's  History  of  Ply- 
mouth Plantation  (which,  of  course,  he  knew  only  by 
extracts),  Edwards  on  the  Will,  and  the  methods  and 
attainments  of  the  revolutionary  orators — he  displayed 
a  firm  hand,  a  critical  faculty,  a  sense  of  proportion,  and 
an  impartiality  based  on  original  reading.  Dr.  Knapp 
(he  was  an  LL.  D.  of  Paris)  at  least  showed  that  Dart- 
mouth men  were   interested  in  books,  and  that  they 


Wilbur  Daniel  Spencer,  '95. 


TOMORROW  87 

firmlj^  believed,  even  in  that  nascent  period,  in  the 
existence  and  endurance  of  such  et  thing  as  an  American 
literature. 

C.  F.  Richardson,  '71. 


Tomorrow. 

n^HERE  is  a  day  which  never  comes 
1      To  light  the  morning  sky, 
But  in  our  thoughts  alone  it  lives 

And  there  may  never  die ; 
It  holds  our  hopes  of  future  bliss. 

Our  aspirations  high, 
And  life  itself  is  but  a  point 
In  that  eternity — 
Tomorrow. 

Each  sunset  brings  us  nearer  that 

Which  earth  shall  not  behold, 
Where,  far  aw^ay  bej'ond  the  hills 

And  through  the  clouds  of  gold. 
We  see  a  glimpse  of  brighter  hours 

Than  tongue  of  bard  has  told. 
When  marks  of  time  will  be  effaced, 

W^hen  men  w^ill  not  grow  old — 
Tomorrow. 

W.  D.  Spencer,  '95. 


88  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


Arnaut  de  Marueil. 

JPHE  fame  of  Dante  illnmines  the  ages,  but  his  masters 
1  in  poetic  art,  like  too  many  teachers  of  other  arts 
than  verse,  are  little  remembered.  This  is  not  his 
fault,  however.  He  has  taken  pains  to  acknowledge  his 
indebtedness  to  Provencal  poets,  and  pays  them  the 
signal  compliment  of  introducing  in  his  Divine  Comedy 
a  stanza  written  in  their  tongue.  Petrarch,  also,  is  out- 
spoken in  his  praise  of  them.  Among  those  whom  he 
calls  by  name  is  Arnaut  de  Marueil. 

This  poet,  born  not  far  from  Perigueux,  in  the  days  of 
Robin  Hood,  loved  Adalasia,  vicomtesse  of  Beziers;  and 
his  poetry  is  a  record  of  the  birth  and  growth  of  his 
passion,  and  of  its  unhappy  end.  He  was  discarded  for 
a  rival,  but  had  the  dismal  comfort  of  being  sacrificed  for 
a  King,  Alfonse  of  Aragon. 

The  verses  that  follow  illustrate  his  manner  and  his 
art.  It  will  be  observed  that  only  four  rhymes  are  used 
in  the  thirty-two  lines. 

Sweet  to  me  is  April,  bearing 

Winds  that  o  'er  me  softly  blow ; 
Rossignols  their  songs  preparing 
All  night  long  in  hedges  low ; 
All  the  birds,  as  they  have  power. 
While  the  dews  of  morning  wait, 
Sing  of  joy  in  sky  and  bower, 
Each  consorting  with  his  mate. 


ARNAVT  DB  MARUEII^  89 

And  as  all  the  world  is  airing 

New  delight  while  new  leaves  grow, 
It  were  vain  to  try  foreswearing 
Love  that  sets  my  heart  aglow ; 
Both  by  habit  and  by  dower 

Gladness  is  my  rightful  state ; 
When  dull  clouds  no  more  can  lower, 
Quick  my  heart  throws  off  its  weight.    . 

Helen  were  not  worth  comparing, 

Gardens  no  such  bei.uty  show ; 
Teeth  of  pearl,  the  truth  declaring, 
Blooming  cheeks,  a  neck  of  snow, 
Tresses  like  a  golden  shower. 

Courtly  grace,  for  treason  hate,  — 
God,  who  bade  her  thus  o  'ertower 
All  the  rest,  her  way  make  straight ! 

Kindness  may  she  do  me,  sparing 
Courtship  long  and  favor  slow. 
Give  a  kiss  to  cheer  my  daring — 
More,  if  more  I  earn,  bestow; 
Then  the  path  where  pleasures  flower 

We  shall  tread  nor  slow  nor  late. 

For  such  hopes  my  heart  o  'erpower 

When  her  charms  I  contemplate. 

Justin  H.  Smith,  '77. 


90  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  Undecided  Bet. 

|NE  day,  while  speaking  to  a  party  of  friends,  T  re- 
marked that  I  did  not  see  any  excitement  in  horse 
racing. 

"Do  you  ever  bet  on  the  races?"  asked  some  one 
quickly,  and  I  replied  that  I  never  did. 

"Well,"  he  continued  triumphantly,  "no  wonder,  that 
is  the  interesting  part  of  it." 

Although  unaware  of  it  at  the  time,  I  afterwards  dis- 
covered that  he  had  struck  the  key-note  of  the  success  of 
horse  racing. 

While  this  may  be  a  little  out  of  the  line  of  this  story, 
it  illustrates  a  point  I  wish  to  emphasize  in  the  begin- 
ning, i.  e.,  the  interest  which  centres  around  a  bet. 

Dartmouth  has  always  been  renow^ned  through  her 
athletics,  and  her  teams  have  always  made  a  good 
showing  against  the  largest  of  the  Eastern  Colleges. 
On  the  track  team  we  had,  in  George  Radbourn,  the 
finest  half-miler  that  had  ever  entered  college.  When  he 
entered,  he  was  entirely  unfamiliar  with  the  cinder  track, 
but,  by  that  steady  perseverance  which  conquers  all 
things,  he  achieved  a  place  in  the  front  rank  among 
prominent  athletes. 

Junior  year  George  returned  to  college,  determined  to 
break  all  previous  records.    When  he  began  training,  he 


•  •    4     »  J  »  ' 

Burpee  Caldwell  Taylor,  '97. 


c     .  c    ^t- 


THE    UNDECIDED   BET  91 

found  he  had  a  dangerous  rival  in  Tom  Creighton,  a 
Sophomore,  who  had  entered  from  another  college. 
For  some  unknown  reason  Creighton  became  intensely- 
jealous  of  George,  and  the  two  rivals  created  no  small 
amotmt  of  attention  among  the  great  body  of  students 
who  were  interested  in  athletics. 

The  difference  between  the  two  athletes  was  very 
marked.  George  was  a  heavily  built  fellow  of  medium 
height,  with  large  strong  legs,  and  with  a  fine  chest 
development.  His  legs,  which  were  almost  as  large 
above  the  ankles  as  around  the  calves,  gave  him  a 
powerful  stride.  And  he  ow^ed  most  of  his  success  to 
strict,  conscientious  training,  coupled  with  an  unusual 
amount  of  "  sand." 

Tom,  on  the  other  hand,  was  entirely  different.  He 
was  a  tall,  handsome  fellow,  with  plenty  of  money,  and 
a  man  conscious  of  his  own  abilities.  He  had  long,  wiry 
legs,  and  an  enormous  lung  capacity,  which,  how^ever, 
had  become  lessened  by  excessive  cigarette  smoking.  On 
the  track,  he  ran  with  a  long,  springy  stride,  and, 
in  short,  he  was  what  is  called  an  ideal  runner. 

Such,  in  short,  were  the  two  runners.  George,  for  the 
most  part,  worked  for  the  honor  of  old  Dartmouth, 
while  Tom  seemed  to  run  merely  for  the  gratification  of 
his  own  vanity. 

As  the  day  of  the  Fall  meet  approached,  the  rivalry 
betw^een  the  friends  of  the  tw^o  athletes  waxed  hot.  A 
few^  days  before  the  race  came  off,  a  party  of  students  in 
front  of  the  Wheelock  were  discussing  the  respective 
merits  of  the  two  men,  when  Creighton  appeared  upon 
the  scene.    Stepping  up  to  one  of  George's  most  ardent 


92  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

supporters  he  remarked,  "Look  here,  if  you  think  Rad- 
bourn  can  beat  me,  all  right;  but  I  have  fifty  dollars 
that  says  he  can 't.  If  you  have  any  sporting  blood  in 
you,  you  will  cover  it;  if  you  haven't,  put  up  or  shut 
up." 

A  murmur  of  approval  went  through  the  crowd  of 
Creighton's  supporters  as  he  made  the  offer.  The  fellow 
spoken  to  turned  pale  for  a  moment,  and  then,  slowly 
drawing  out  a  pocket-book,  remarked:  "I  am  always 
capable  of  backing  up  my  own  statements,  and  if  you 
w^ant  to  add  another  fifty  to  that,  now^  is  your  chance." 

It  was  Creighton's  turn  to  be  surprised.  For  once  he 
had  run  up  against  the  wrong  man.  The  enthusiastic 
supporter  of  George  was  none  other  than  Clyde  Mery- 
field,  the  millionaire  sport  from  Washington.  The 
money  was  placed  and  the  affair  finally  reached  George's 
ears. 

October  10th,  the  day  of  the  meet,  found  the  two  rivals 
in  the  best  of  condition.  George  felt  in  his  own  mind 
that  he  could  beat  Tom,  but  still,  for  private  reasons,  he 
did  not  wish  to  do  so.  He  thought  the  matter  over 
seriously  for  awhile  and  then  decided  upon  a  certain 
course. 

The  track  was  in  elegant  condition.  It  had  been  rolled 
as  smooth  and  hard  as  human  hands  could  make  it. 
The  starters  for  the  half  mile  were  soon  brought  out. 
Such  a  feeling  as  inspires  a  man  before  a  race  of  this 
sort,  only  one  who  has  participated  can  know.  Tom's 
blanched  cheeks  show^ed  the  nervousness  which  he  tried 
to  conceal.  George  was  apparently  cool  and  firmly  re- 
solved upon  his  purpose. 


THE    UNDECIDED   BET  93 

Finally,  the  other  participants  had  their  handicaps 
assigned,  while  Tom  and  George  were  placed  at  the 
scratch.  The  starter's  voice  rang  ont  clear  and  loud, 
"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  No  answer,  "  On  your  marks,  set," 
Bang!  went  the  pistol  and-  they  were  off.  It  was  plainly 
evident  that  the  interest  of  the  spectators  was  centred 
on  the  two  rivals.  Slowly  but  surely  they  were  over- 
hauling the  handicap  men.  At  the  end  of  the  first 
quarter  they  had  passed  the  bunch,  aud  then  the  real 
race  began,  with  Creighton  leading.  George  knew  he 
had  a  hard  race  before  him  and  held  his  strength,  close 
behind  his  rival.  With  regular,  even  strides,  they  passed 
the  two-twenty  mark,  and  only  two-twenty  more  to 
run.  On  both  sides  the  cheering  was  loud,  aud  still  like 
clock-work  those  two  forms  kept  on.  They  had  passed 
the  curve  and  were  making  the  final  effort.  Like  hun- 
dred-yard men  they  flew  down  the  stretch,  breast  with 
breast.  The  cheering  for  an  instant  ceased,  and  then 
began  with  renewed  vigor  as  George,  within  twenty 
yards  of  the  finish,  put  forth  a  supreme  effort  and  dis- 
tanced his  rival  by  fully  two  yards.  But,  as  he  was 
about  to  breast  the  worsted,  he  suddenly  sprang  aside 
and  let  Creighton  win.    Tom  had  won  his  bet. 

The  storm  of  applause  which  was  bursting  forth  in 
honor  of  George,  was  changed  into  a  great  commotion 
when  the  spectators  perceived  what  had  been  done. 

Tom  was  angry  at  the  outcome,  but  the  affair  was 
done  so  quickly  he  had  not  the  power  to  stop  himself. 
The  record  was  broken  and  Tom  had  won  his  bet.  But 
did  he  win  it  ?    There  was  a  question  for  him  to  consider. 

The  judges  declared  all  bets  off",  and  praised  both  men 


94  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

for  their  gamy  fight.  When  Tom  thought  the  matter 
over  seriously,  he  saw  the  true  man  there  was  in  his 
rival,  and,  like  the  gentleman  he  proved  to  be,  apolo- 
gized to  George  that  evening.  After  the  reconciliation  of 
the  two  rivals,  there  were  not  two  better  friends  in  col- 
lege than  George  Radbourn  and  Tom  Creighton. 

B.  C.  Taylor,  '97. 


May  Musings. 

TQ  RIGHT  the  sunlight  sheds  afar 
J         A  wealth  of  brilliancy. 

Does  it  kiss  the  lips  where  the  roses  are, 
The  lips  of  my  love,  for  me  ? 

Soft  the  balmy  zephyrs  blow 

Through  ev'ry  budding  tree. 
Do  they  breathe  a  message,  sweet  and  low , 

From  the  lips  of  my  love  to  me  ? 

Buoyant  seems  the  new-born  spring 

With  ceaseless  harmony. 
Does  it  bring  more  close,  by  its  heightening, 

The  heart  of  my  love,  to  me  ? 

H.  B.  Metcalf,  '93. 


J-3»  3  3  : 


DARTMOUTH  BUILDINGS  AT  PRESENT  95 


The  Dartmouth  Buildings  at 
Present. 

VIEV/  of  the  main  group  of  the  College  buildings, 
as  it  appears  at  present,  is  much  less  peculiarly 
characteristic  of  Dartmouth  than  the  pictures  of  the 
same  group  at  earlier  dates.  Then  they  formed  almost, 
or  quite,  the  whole  institution ;  a  distinction  which  now 
they  certainly  cannot  claim. 

The  most  notable  change  in  the  row,  since  1850,  has 
been  the  addition  of  Rollins  Chapel,  on  the  extreme 
left,  and  Wilson  Hall,  the  Library,  on  the  right,  which 
were  built  in  1885.  One  alteration  in  Dartmouth  Hall 
is  worthy  of  mention ;  that  is,  the  arrangement  of  the  cen- 
tral entrance.  In  former  years  the  organ  (the  one  now 
in  Bartlett  Hall)  occupied  a  position  beside  the  one  door, 
and  the  platform  was  opposite.  The  seniors  sat  in  the 
front  benches,  right  across  the  room,  and  behind  them 
came  the  other  classes  in  order,  the  freshmen  in  the  rear. 
This  system  proved  the  cause  of  endless  trouble,  for  it 
afforded  an  excellent  opportunity  for  the  sophomores  to 
kick  the  departing  freshmen  down  the  steps ;  an  oppor- 
tunity which  they,  of  course,  did  not  neglect.  Accord- 
ingly, about  1870,  the  central  door  was  fastened  up  and 
two  others  substituted,  one  on  each  side,  and  the  organ 
and  platform  changed  places.     The  classes  were  located 


96  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

as  at  present,  the  seniors  in  the  front  middle  seats,  the 
juniors  on  the  front  sides,  the  sophomores  on  the  north 
side,  and  the  freshmen  on  the  south. 

The  removal  of  all  the  fences  has  improved  the  appear- 
ance of  the  yard.  The  old  fence  of  the  preceding  picture 
was  succeeded  by  a  hawthorn  hedge,  and  that,  in  turn, 
about  the  time  of  the  building  of  the  Library  and 
Chapel,  by  a  wire  fence.  The  laying  of  the  tar-concrete 
walks,  about  eight  or  ten  years  ago,  was  a  change 
greatly  appreciated  by  the  students. 

Prominent  among  the  events  of  the  last  few  decades  in 
the  history  of  the  college,  is  the  establishment  of  two  of 
the  associated  departments,  the  New  Hampshire  College 
of  Agriculture  and  the  Mechanic  Arts,  organized  in  1868 
in  accordance  with  the  act  of  the  New  Hampshire  legisla- 
ture,— removed  to  Durham  in  1892;  and  the  Thayer 
School  of  Civil  Engineering,  founded  in  1871  by  Gen. 
Sylvanus  Thayer  of  South  Braintree,  Mass.,  of  the  class 
of  1807. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96. 


THE    OLD  PINE  9T 


The  Old  Pine. 

(May,  1895.) 

rX  is  night  upon  the  hill, 

And  the  wind  all  softly  creeps — 
Creeps  softly,  low  and  still, 
Where  the  old  pine  vigil  keeps. 

And  the  murmuring  trees  around 
Breathe  a  prayer  to  the  midnight  air, 

With  a  faint  and  fitftd  sound, 
For  the  old  pine  dying  there. 

There's  a  rustle  in  the  grass ; 

And  in  silent,  mournful  throng, 
The  shades  of  each  old  class. 

Sing  a  last,  low,  farewell  song. 

Farewell,  farewell,  ye  ancient  pine; 

A  sacred  memory  is  thine. 
Farewell  to  thee, 
Old  college  tree ; 
Farewell,  Old  Pine. 

W.  B.  Plumer,  '96. 


98  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  Old  Pine. 

TffiOOKED  upon  for  years  as  a  landmark  of  fabulous 
age,  an  inherent  part  of  the  college,  respected  and 
revered  by  all  who  knew  it,  the  old  pine  stood  upon  the 
hill,  watching  over  the  dear  old  college.  It  was  the  last 
of  its  kind,  and  no  young  shoot  sprang  up  to  take  its 
place,  and  for  a  century  and  a  half  it  kept  its  vigil  and 
calmly  watched  over  the  early  growth  and  later  progress 
of  the  historic  institution. 

Various  attempts  have  been  made  by  those  interested 
in  the  subject,  to  prove  that  the  old  pine  was  growing 
even  before  the  settlement  of  this  country  by  the  Eng- 
lish ;  as  one  writer  put  it :  "It  was  a  young  shoot  when 
our  fathers  landed  at  Plymouth  in  1620,"  while  others 
have  sought  to  link  with  its  history  the  old  tradition 
about  the  three  Indians  meeting  around  the  tree  and 
singing  their  farewell  song. 

Ex-President  Samuel  Colcord  Bartlett  doubtless  knows 
more  about  the  true  history  of  the  old  tree  than  does 
any  one  else.  He  emphatically  denies  the  story  of  the 
planting  by  the  three  Indians,  and  is  firm  in  his  belief 
that  the  tree  is  not  more  than  150  years  old.  In  the 
first  place,  no  three  Indians  can  be  fixed  upon  as  forming 
any  educated,  leave-taking  trio,  and,  as  to  the  song 
which  they  were  supposed  to  have  sung,  that  was  pub- 


The  Old  Pine. 


THE   OLD  PINE  99 

listed  in  an  old  collection  of  poetry,  without  the  follow- 
ing so-called  "pine  stanza"  — 

"  When  these  burnished  locks  are  grej, 
Thinned  by  many  a  toil-spent  day, 
When  around  this  youthful  pine 
Moss  shall  creep  and  ivy  twine. 
Long  may  this  loved  bower  remain, 
Here  may  we  three  meet  again." 

In  regard  to  the  age  of  the  pine,  Dr.  Bartlett  arrived 
at  his  conclusion  after  careful  comparison  with  other 
ttees  in  respect  to  height,  size,  rings,  and  other  marked 
features.  Without  doubt  the  old  pine  dates  back  to 
a  period  earlier  than  the  foundation  of  the  college 
in  1769,  and  it  was  probably  a  part  of  the  forest  which 
covered  what  is  now  the  town  proper  and  the  sur- 
rounding hills.  Some  of  its  fellows,  as  they  lay  on  the 
ground  after  the  first  six  acres  had  been  cleared  for  the 
college  buildings,  measured  270  feet  in  length.  Growing, 
as  it  did,  on  a  ledge,  it  never  reached  such  a  height,  yet 
from  its  commanding  position  it  always  served  as  a 
conspicuous  and  imposing  landmark. 

The  actual  history  of  the  pine  begins  about  the  year 
1840,  when  the  senior  class,  during  commencement  week, 
gathered  about  the  tree  and  passed  around  a  pipe,  from 
w^hich  each  member  took  a  whiff,  in  supposed  imitation 
of  the  Indian  tradition.  This  custom  was  perpetuated, 
and  before  long  an  address  and  a  poem  were  added  to 
the  exercises  and  carried  out  down  to  the  present  day. 

In  1892  the  lightning  struck  the  old  tree  and  the  top 
was  shattered.     After  that  it  steadilv  failed,  and  last 


100  BCHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

Spring,  when  all  Nature  began  to  clothe  herself  anew, 
the  old  pine  from  its  high  position  stood  forth  with  red- 
dened needles,  looking  as  if  its  life  had  indeed  burned  out. 
Here,  for  nearly  sixty  years,  each  class  met  to  say 
good-bye  to  the  dear  old  college ;  here  they  smoked  the 
farewell  pipe  of  peace  and  friendship ;  here  the  old  tree, 
with  the  wind  sighing  through  its  branches,  whispered, 
w^ith  siren-like  voice,  a  plaintive  adieu,  mingled  with 
alluring  words  of  encouragement.  Known  by  every 
graduate  and  friend  of  old  Dartmouth,  when,  during  the 
summer  of  1895,  the  news  that  it  had  been  cut  down 
was  spread  abroad  over  the  country,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
college  had  lost  a  true  and  almost  human  friend.  Com- 
ing classes  can  never  appreciate,  or  feel  that  thrill  which 
makes  the  heart-beat  quicken ;  they  can  never  realize  the 
strong  sentiment  which  existed  regarding  the  old  pine, 
but  as  this  dear  old  friend,  almost  the  last  of  the  old 
Dartmouth,  passes  from  the  stage  of  action,  every  one  is 
reminded  of  the  fact  that  Time  changes  all  things,  and 
that  the  dear  old  tree,  after  guiding  the  old  college  to 
within  sight  of  a  new  era  and  the  promised  land,  quietly 
retired  to  make  room  for  the  New  Dartmouth. 

L.  S.  Cox,  '96. 


Louis  Sherburne  Cox,  '96. 


TO   OUR   ALMA   MATEJt         ,  ,      ,  IQl 


To  Our  Alma  Mater. 

n^HERE  is  a  College  deep  among  the  hills, 
1      Though  old  in  years,  in  spirit  young  and  strong; 
At  thought  of  which  each  heart  with  rapture  thrills, 
To  Dartmouth  let  us  raise  a  hearty  song. 
The  Dartmouth  spirit 

To  our  song  we  '11  bring — 
Let  the  world  hear  it, 
As  challenge  we  fling. 

Here 's  to  Dartmouth  old  and  hoary ! 

Here 's  to  Dartmouth  ever  young ! 
Let  us  sing  her  fame  and  glory,— 

Sing  a  song  with  heart  and  tongue, 
Till  the  skies  reecho  o'er  us 
With  the  mighty-sounding  chorus. 
Throbbing  proudly, 
Swelling  loudly, 
Of  a  song  as  yet  unsung. 
Here 's  to  Dartmouth  old  and  hoary ! 
Here 's  to  Dartmouth  ever  young ! 

K.  Knowlton,  '94. 


,tQ2  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


At  Twilight. 

r  LOVE  to  dream  and  rest  at  twilight  best, 
When  sinks  the  sun  beyond  the  crimson  west, 

When  softly  tells  the  swell  of  low,  sweet  bells, 
The  homing  of  the  herds  from  dew3^  dells ; 

Then  troop  the  ghostly  shadows  o'er  the  plain ; 
The  wood-thrush  ripples  dear  his  silvery  strain. 

But  best  of  all  I  love  the  mellow  light 
That  ushers  in  the  frostj'  autumn  night. 

When  stirs  the  breeze  among  the  rustling  trees, 
And  sighs  for  sadness  in  the  dying  leaves. 

I  love  to  ramble  down  the  village  street 
And  see  the  cheery  fireside's  glowing  heat, 

The  ruddy  children  laughing  by  the  flames, 
Some  cracking  nuts,  or  others  playing  games. 

As  one  by  one  the  cold,  bright  stars  appear, 
I  turn  my  steps  to  seek  the  fireside's  cheer. 

The  supper  table  robed  in  snowy  white 
Has  merry  faces  round  its  wealth  tonight. 

And  what  care  I  though  dead  be  leaf  and  flower. 
After  a  walk  at  autumn's  twilight  hour  ? 

Le  B.  M.  Huntington,  '98. 


Nathaniel  Ladd  Foster,  '96. 


A    TURKEY  FEATHER  103 


A  Turkey  Feather. 

JAMES  REED  was  stretched  luxuriously  out  in  the 
chair  of  one  of  Hanover's  barbers,  while  that  worthy, 
who  was  new  to  his  business,  and,  therefore,  inordinately 
careful,  lathered  his  face  for  the  fourth  time.  The  youth, 
who  was  a  sophomore,  appeared  to  be  well  satisfied 
with  himself,  judging  from  the  complacent,  reminiscent 
look  upon  his  face.  In  fact,  he  was  occupied  with  what 
were  to  him  very  pleasant  thoughts,  and  he  did  not 
really  see  the  chromo  to  which  his  vacant  eye  was  di- 
rected. He  was  going  over,  in  his  mind,  all  the  incidents 
of  his  successful  turkey  expedition  of  the  night  before. 
He  was  wondering  what  would  be  the  feelings  of  the 
farmer  when  he  went  to  count  his  fowls  that  morning. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  "Jim,"  as  he  was  called  by  his 
friends,  was  able  to  see  but  one  side  of  the  affair,  i.  e., 
his  own.  For  he  had  accepted,  without  question,  the 
code  of  college  ethics  which  declares  that  there  is  a 
distinct  difference,  in  fact,  no  analogy,  between  the 
appropriation  of  turkeys  and  stealing. 

While  the  barber  was  sharpening  his  razor,  Jim  glanced 
carelessly  around  the  room.  There  were  only  two  other 
occupants,  one  a  student  and  the  other  a  rather  seedy 
representative  of  the  agricultural  class.  He  saw,  with- 
out noticing  it  particularly,  that  the  man  seemed  inter- 
ested in  the  cut  of  his  trousers,  judging  from  the  intent 


104.  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

gaze  bestowed  upon  them.  Jim  glanced  complacently  at 
the  carefully  creased  production  of  the  modern  tailor, 
and  then,  by  way  of  comparison,  at  the  patched  and 
faded  ones  of  the  farmer,  and  slighth'-  smiled.  As  he 
turned  his  head  to  receive  the  attentions  of  the  razor,  he 
could  see  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  that  the  tiller  of  the 
soil  still  kept  an  intent  and  rather  peculiar  look  upon 
his  trousers.  Looking  more  carefully',  he  discovered, 
somewhat  to  his  dismay,  that  near  the  bottom,  on  the 
side  next  to  the  farmer,  was  a  small  but  undoubted 
turkey  feather.  It  came  over  his  rather  guilty  con- 
science that  the  man  must  certainly  be  the  owner  of  his 
last  night's  spoils.  But  no!  How  foolish  he  was. 
There  was  very  little  chance  that  such  a  coincidence 
should  happen.  And,  besides,  what  if  it  was  so  ?  A 
mere  feather  didn't  prove  anything.  But,  in  spite  of  this 
reasoning  he  could  not  banish  a  feeling  of  uneasiness, 
which  was  increased  by  the  fact  that  the  corner  of  his 
eye  told  him  that  the  steady  gaze  of  his  tormentor  did 
not  abate,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  became  more  and 
more  intent.  He  turned  his  face  so  that  the  barber  could 
shave  the  opposite  side,  and  this  put  the  man  out  of  the 
line  of  his  vision.  But  the  relief  was  only  momentary, 
as  he  could  seem  to  feel  that  the  feather  was  still  the 
cynosure  of  those  eyes.  He  thought  of  brushing  it  off 
with  his  other  leg,  but  saw  that  this  would  "give  him 
away"  more  than  ever. 

The  farmer  now  gave  two  or  theee  coughs,  that 
sounded  terribly  significant  to  the  now  thoroughly 
alarmed  student.  He  recalled  that  a  senior  had  said, 
the  night  before,  that  most  of  the  turkey  owners  any- 


A    TURKEY  FEATHER  105 

where  around  Hanover  had  vowed  to  send  to  prison  any 
student-thief  they  could  catch.  He  pictured  to  himself 
the  distress  of  his  parents,  and,  worse  than  all,  that  of  a 
" girl  he  knew."  That  settled  it.  He  would  try  the  only 
way  that  he  could  see,  and  throw  himself  upon  the 
mercy  of  the  man,  and,  by  the  promise  of  a  large  sum 
of  money,  try  to  buy  him  oif.  Rising  hastily  from  his 
chair,  for  the  gentleman  of  the  razor  had  finally  com- 
pleted his  task,  Jim  beckoned  the  farmer  to  come  out- 
side. The  latter,  with  wonder  expressed  all  over  his 
face,  followed  him  out.  At  first  he  did  not  seem  to 
understand  w^hat  the  jumbled-up  confession  of  the  boy 
was  all  about.  But  he  did  have  intelligence  enough  to 
pocket  the  twenty-dollar  bill  held  out  to  him.  Jim 
finally  noticed  that  something  was  wrong,  and  began 
to  think  he  had  perhaps  made  a  mistake  after  all.  and 
abruptly  stopped  and  waited  for  the  other  to  speak. 
And  this  is  what  he  heard:  "Young  feller,  I  did  some 
wonder  where  that  turkey  feather  came  from,  but  I 
don't  jest  know  what  you  mean  by  yer  talk  about 
takin'  my  turkeys,  'cause  I  ain't  never  kep'  any.  But, 
as  fer  the  money,  I  ain't  too  proud  to  take  it,  and  God 
bless  ye  fer  it.  It  '11  help  me  and  Mary  out  wonderfull " ; 
and  with  that  he  started  gaily  toward  his  broken-down 
horse  and  wagon. 

And  that  is  why  James  Reed  could  never  afterwards 
be  drawn  into  turkey  parties,  and  why  his  monthly 
account,  which  he  sent  home  to  his  father,  contained  the 
following  item : 

Charity $20.00 

N.  L.  Foster,  '96. 


106  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


Memories  of  Horace. 

a  "O  EHOLD  Soracte  white  with  winter  snow," 
J       Ah,  grand  old  poet  of  the  Sabine  farm, 

I  never  read  thy  memory-haunting  psalm, 
But  what  Ascutney,  lying  blue  and  low 
Upon  the  south,  and  veiled  in  misty  glow, 

Doth  come  to  me,  and  all  the  mellow  charm 
Of  those  long  summer  days  of  holy  calm 
We  passed  with  Alma  Mater  long  ago. 

What  though  Soracte  now  with  snow  is  white, 
What  though  the  summer  days  come  not  again ! 
Heap  high  the  fire  from  Memory's  plenteous  store, 

With  summer  fagots  cheer  the  winter  night, 

Fling  far  away  the  thoughts  of  grief  and  pain, 
And  let  our  souls  be  jovial  once  more. 

F.  L.  Pattee,  '88. 


>  >>1 

>»»3 


Charles  Nicholas  McCall,  '98. 


PLEDGING   A    FRESHMAN  107 


Pledging  a  Freshman. 

YOUNG  Freshman  once  arrived  at  Dartmouth  Col- 
lege, fresh  from  the  comforts  of  home  and  the  com- 
panionship of  doting  relatives.  He  felt  very  lonely 
as,  standing  in  the  hall  of  the  Wheelock,  where  he  had 
temporarily  taken  tip  his  abode,  he  looked  about  at  the 
strange  faces  and  listened  to  the  bustle  and  confusion 
attending  the  arrival  of  students.  He  was  almost  in- 
clined to  think  of  giving  up  college  and  of  returning 
once  more  to  his  home.  However,  he  considered  that, 
after  awhile,  he  would  become  acquainted  with  his  fel- 
low-students, and  that  then  college  life  would  become 
bearable,  if  not  enjoyable. 

Suddenly  he  saw  one  of  the  strangers  who  were  stand- 
ing about  in  the  hall,  advance  toward  him,  smiling 
pleasantly. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Greene?"  asked  the  stranger,  cordially 
extending  his  hand. 

The  Freshman  acknowledged  his  identity. 

"I  heard  that  you  were  coming,"  said  the  stranger; 
"we  have  been  looking  out  for  you.  Come  over  here 
and  I  will  introduce  \'ou  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Upsilon  Psi." 

The  Freshman  timidly  followed  his  new  friend  to  the 
other  side  of  the  hall,  where  he  was  introduced  to  a  man 
as  complete  a  stranger  to  him  as  had  been  the  first. 
The  two  chatted  to  him  very  pleasantly,  on  various 


108  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

matters,  for  a  considerable  time.  Finally,  Mr.  Upsilon 
Psi  observed,  kindly  laying  his  band  on  the  Freshman's 
shoulder:- 

"Mr.  Greene,  we  wonld  like  to  take  yon  over  to  our 
fraternity  'chin.'  There  are  a  good  many  of  the  fellows 
from  your  town  in  our  society,  and  we  would  like  you 
to  come  over,  so  we  can  see  how  we  like  you  and  you 
can  see  how  you  like  us." 

Mr.  Greene  gladly  agreed  to  go,  and  thought  how 
kind  it  was  of  these  lordly  Sophomores,  or  Jimiors,  or 
perhaps  Seniors,  to  take  so  much  interest  in  a  poor  lone 
Freshman  like  himself  But  when  he  arrived  at  the 
"chin"  his  wonder  and  pleasure  increased.  Everyone 
seemed  interested  to  hear  about  where  he  came  from  and 
to  learn  what  his  tastes  were,  and  they  gave  him  ice 
cream  and  cake  and  treated  him  royally.  By  and  by  he 
said  that  he  must  return  to  the  Wheelock.  and  Mr.  Up- 
silon Psi  and  the  mysterious  man  who  had  first  ac- 
costed him,  —  and  whose  name  he  did  not  yet  know, — 
volunteered  to  escort  him  thither. 

"  How  do  j^ou  like  our  fellows  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Upsilon 
Psi,  as  the  three  walked  back  together. 

"Very  much,  indeed,"  replied  the  Freshman;  "you've 
treated  me  finely,  and  I  am  ever  so  much  obliged  to 
you." 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  said  the  mysterious  man, 
"but  now,  see.  You  say  you  like  our  fellows;  I  can 
assure  you  that  they  like  you.  Now,  why  should  you 
wait  any  longer  ?  Why  not  pledge  tonight  to  join  our 
society?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Greene,  somewhat  embarrassed,  "I 


PLEDGING  A   FRESHMAN  109 

promised  to  go  down  to  a  *  A  A  *  chin '  tomorrow 
uight,  so  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  have  to  wait  till  after  that," 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  mj^sterious  man,  somewhat 
reproachfully,  "  of  course,  if  you  like.  But  when  you're 
'chinned'  by  a  society  like  T  ^,  it  is  not  a  time  to 
hesitate  or  delay." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  replied  the  Freshman,  hurriedly; 
"but,  you  see,  I've  promised  and  I  can't  very  well  help 
going." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Mr.  Upsilon  Psi,  magnan- 
imouvsly;  "well,  we'll  see  you  after  tomorrow  night. 
Here  we  are  at  the  door.    Good-night." 

" Good-night."  said  Greene ;  "thank  you  very  much  for 
your  kindness." 

But  the  Freshman  was  not  j-et  to  retire  to  his  lonely 
room.  In  the  hotel  hall  he  met  a  man  who  introduced 
himself  as  Air.  Epsilon  Deeke,  w^ho  was  very  cordial  and 
friendly,  and  who  insisted  on  hauling  him  off  to  another 
"chin"  that  same  evening,  despite  the  Freshman's  plea 
of  having  some  algebra  to  study.  At  the  "chin"  Mr. 
Deeke  and  his  friends  sang  the  praises  of  the  E  K  A  fra- 
ternity; and,  on  hearing  of  the  Freshman's  previous 
experience,  warned  him,  with  every  appearance  of  anx- 
ious interest  in  his  welfare,  that,  though  T  ^  was,  un- 
doubtedly, a  fine  society,  and  many  of  its  members  fine 
fellows,  still  it  was  a  well-known  fact  that  it  contained 
some  of  the  most  notorious  "sports"  in  college.  He 
also  had  it  duly  impressed  upon  him  that  E  K  A  was  the 
largest  society  in  the  country  and  had  the  greatest  num- 
ber of  chapters,  and  that,  in  Dartmouth,  it  had  the  best 
representation  on  the  athletic  teams,  and  on  the  dra- 


110  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

matic  and  the  intisical  clubs.  It  was  full  twelve  o'clock 
that  night  when  Mr.  Greene  threw  his  tired  form  upon 
his  bed  in  the  Wheelock. 

The  next  evening,  in  spite  of  the  counter  attraction  of 
a  foot-ball  rush,  he  proceeded,  under  the  kind  care  of 
Mr.  Alfadelt,  to  the  "chin"  of  the  fraternity  of  *  A  A. 
Here  the  scenes  of  the  preceding  CA-ening  were  repeated, 
and  everyone  w^as  attentive,  interested,  and  kind.  They 
asked  him  by  what  societies  he  had  already  been 
"chinned,"  and,  when  he  told  them,  gave  him  some  use- 
ful information  about  these  fraternities.  E  K  A,  he  was 
told,  w^as  a  nefarious  organization,  and,  in  its  anxiety 
to  increase  its  numbers,  used  methods  to  induce  Fresh- 
men to  pledge,  which  at  once  gained  it  the  contempt  of 
the  glorious  *  A  A  society.  "As  for  T  ^,"  said  Mr. 
Kressent,  one  of  the  leading  <i»  A  A  men,  "  well,  we  call  it 
our  equal,  and  we  two  are  certainly  the  best  societies  in 
college;  but,"  he  added  confidentially,  and  speaking  in 
a  lower  tone,  "  T  '<P'  has  been  going  down  hill  lately,  as 
some  of  the  men  admitted  last  year  show.  Now,  ours  is 
the  oldest  living  Greek  Letter  Society ;  its  distinguished 
members  are  scattered  all  over  the  country,  and  the  man 
who  joins  it  will  never  have  reason  to  regret  it." 

"And  then  look  at  our  pin,"  said  Mr.  Alfadelt,  proudly 
pointing  to  his  own,  "isn't  it  a  beauty  ?  "  Why,  all  the 
other  societies  envy  us  and  confess  we  have  a  prettier 
pin  than  any  of  them." 

Mr.  Greene  was  duly  impressed  by  this  important 
argument  in  favor  of  joining  the  society. 

A  vigorous  attack  was  then  made  upon  the  Fresh- 
man.    Mr.  Kressent,  ably  assisted  by  Mr.  Alfadelt,  Mr. 


PLEDGING  A    FRESHMAN  111 

N.  Thusiast,  and  Mr.  Starr,  talked  to  him  for  about  half 
an  hour,  and  so  fired  him  with  enthusiasm  by  the  many 
tales  of  the  glory  of  the  fraternity,  the  brotherly  love 
existing  within  it,  and  the  magnificent  literary  advan- 
tages oifered,  that,  unwilling  to  let  such  a  wonderful  op- 
portunity slip,  and  fearful  that  delay  might  injure  his 
chances  of  admission,  he  pledged.  Soon  after  he  re- 
turned to  the  Wheelock,  happy  and  pleased  with  himself, 
and,  as  he  took  off  his  coat,  preparatory  to  retiring, 
glanced  with  pride  at  the  pledge  button  which  one  of  his 
kind  #  A  A  friends  had  placed  in  his  button-hole. 

The  next  week  was  one  of  hard  work  to  the  Fresh- 
man, and  he  did  not  see  many  of  those  who  had  been  so 
kind  to  him.  He  noticed,  indeed,  that  he  was  not  so 
much  sought  after  as  before,  and  he  had  few  callers,  save 
that  one  or  another  of  his  ^  A  A  friends  would  drop  in 
occasionally,  still  kind  and  pleasant,  though  perhaps  not 
quite  so  beaming  as  on  the  night  of  the  "chin." 

One  day  he  met  Mr.  Upsilon  Psi  and  the  mysterious 
man  (whose  name  was  Dyamund,  he  had  disco A^ered,) 
walking  down  the  street.  He  bowed  pleasantly,  but 
there  was  little  response.  Mr.  Upsilon  Psi  gave  him 
a  cold,  pitying  smile,  and  the  mysterious  man  gazed 
dreamily  down  the  street.  Mr.  Deeke,  too,  whom  he 
met  often,  seemed  strangely  indifferent  about  his  welfare. 

"Well,"  said  the  Freshman, philosophically,  "my  4>  A  A 
friends  will  stick  b\'  me." 

But  in  two  months  this  fact  had  ceased  to  give  much 
comfort.  They  had  stuck  by  him,  indeed.  He  had  given 
to  Mr.  Kressent  a  good-sized  check  for  a  pin,  and  to  Mr. 
Starr  some  cash  down  for  an  initiation  fee.    With  money 


112  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

gone,  and  more,  perhaps,  to  go,  and  with  the  terrors  of 
initiation  looming  up  before  him,  the  Freshman  began 
to  wonder  if  secret  societies  were  such  fine  things,  after 
all,  or  if  they  did  not  partake  somewhat  of  the  character 
of  frauds. 

Did  he  find  anything  to  repay  him  when  he  got  inside  ? 

It  is  doubtful.    He  has  not  told. 

C.  N.  McCall,  '98. 


@/l 


A  Glance. 

PAIR  of  eyes  I  saw  but  once 
Are  looking  into  mine, 
And  in  their  play, 
The  laughter  gay 
And  tender  grace  together  shine, 
As  when  I  saw  them  beaming  there. 

Come,  Cupid,  tell  your  captive  where 

Their  owner  dwells  today, 

That  I  may  thither  stray. 
And  drink  again  the  dazzling  wine 
That  sparkles  with  a  wealth  divine, 

Within  two  eyes  I  saw  but  once. 

H.  B.  Metcaxf,  '93. 


Harry  Bingham  MetcaIf*  'S's,, 


w 


THE   OLD   CLOCK  113 


The  Old  Clock. 

ITH  all  thy  memories  and  all 

Thy  moments  dear  to  me, 
Old  Clock  upon  the  college  hall, 

My  heart  goes  out  to  thee ; 
Four  fleeting  years,  no  longer  thine, 

Since  time  ran  on  apace, 
Four  golden  years,  I  count  as  mine, 

While  thou  and  I  were  face  to  face. 

But  Time,  which  conquers  all  at  length, 

Has  conquered  thee,  old  friend, 
And  all  thy  pride  and  early  strength 

Are  coming  to  an  end ; 
Thy  weary  hands  are  sometimes  slow. 

Or  cease  to  move  at  all. 
While  shadows  come  and  shadows  go 

Along  the  ancient  gable  wall. 

While  others  in  their  thoughtless  mood 

Reproach  thee  for  delay, 
I  ask  thee  not  to  make  it  good 

If  thou  must  lose  a  day ; 
Forget  the  later,  cruel  jest. 

Which  careless  lips  have  said, 
Remember  that  they  knew  thee  least — 

Thy  oldest  friends  have  long  been  dead. 


114  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

Men  have  their  many  holidays 

And  periods  of  rest, 
And  still  they  weary  of  their  ways 

And  lose  their  youthful  zest ; 
So  thou,  Old  Clock,  for  faithful  zeal 

Thy  tired  hands  may  stay, 
And  rest  thee  for  thy  better  weal 

In  an  eternal  holiday. 

W.  D.  Spencer.  '95. 


A  Nocturne. 

n^HE  soft  and  sylph-like  shadows  throw 
1      A  robe  about  the  dying  day, 

And  dark-eyed  night,  with  laughter  low, 
Trails  in  the  sky  her  glittering  train. 

The  soft,  sweet-scented  western  wind 
Seems  but  the  breath  of  lovely  night. 

As  through  the  latticed,  open  blind, 
It  woos  me  with  its  whisperings. 

The  soothing  voice  of  rippling  streams, 
The  music  of  the  meadow  marsh, 

But  lulls  me  with  delicious  dreams, 
And  I  am  lost  in  slumberland. 

Le  B.  M.  Huntington,  '97. 


LeBarox  Mjxroe  HOxtington,  '98. 


t  c  c  t  tc  i   ; 

'^         *■  '       I         t         r  ^ 


A   QUESTION    OF  ETHICS  115 


A  Question  of  Ethics. 

TT  is  often  repeated  that  college  students  live  in  a  world 
of  their  own,  a  world  whose  events  and  problems, 
sometimes  at  least,  differ  very  materially  from  those  of 
all  other  places.  Perhaps  the  contrast  is  more  in  ap- 
pearance than  in  reality,  in  form  than  in  fundamental 
principle.  However  this  may  be,  there  are  certain  kinds 
of  experiences  for  whose  exact  likeness  we  must  certainly 
seek  in  vain  amid  any  but  academic  surroundings.  Of 
such  is  an  incident  recently  related  to  me  by  a  middle- 
aged  gentleman  with  whom  I  chanced  to  strike  up  a 
travelling  acquaintance.  He  had  been  relating  several 
of  his  exploits,  performed  during  an  active  career  at  one 
of  our  New  England  institutions,  and  my  interest  was 
already  at  a  high  pitch,  when,  after  a  few  moments  of 
meditation,  he  commenced  upon  this : 

"The  strangest  and  most  serious  predicament  that  I 
was  ever  involved  in  while  in  college,"  he  said,  "  was  the 
very  last.  This  was  the  way  of  it:  The  trouble  all 
began  with  a  circumstance  no  less  trival  than  the  failure 
of  our  librarian  to  note  the  return  of  a  book  that  I  had 
drawn.  I  can  remember  just  how  that  volume  looked — 
a  red-covered  edition  of  'Marmion,'  with  the  name  in 
big  fancy  letters  on  the  cover.  Well,  in  consequence  of 
the  Professor's  carelessness,  it  remained  on  the  list 
charged  to  me.     This  error  could  easily  have  been  dis- 


116  ECHOED   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

covered,  of  course,  if  there  hadn't  been  any  complica- 
tions; but,  as  it  was,  another  fellow  happened  to  steal 
the  same  identical  volume,  a  few  days  after  I  had  taken 
it  back — though  few  such  thefts  were  successfully  com- 
mitted with  us  —  and  that  was  the  real  cause  of  the  row. 

"This  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  term  of  Senior 
year.  About  two  months  later  I  received  notice,  much 
to  my  surprise,  that  '  Marmion '  w^as  long  overdue  I 
protested  that  I  had  returned  it,  but  to  no  use ;  the  ab- 
sence of  the  book  from  the  library  shelves  corroborated 
the  records.  Even  under  such  circumstances  my  word 
might  have  sufficed,  if  my  conduct  during  my  course  had 
been  reasonably  good;  but  the  truth  is,  as  you  have 
seen,  that  I  was  always  a  rather  harum-scarum  sort  of 
a  rascal,  and  could  hardly  expect  to  be  trusted  against 
such  evidence.  Still,  I  thought  that  since  Commence- 
ment was  so  near,  the  affair  might  come  to  nothing; 
but  in  this  I  was  disappointed.  The  faculty  was  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  pitt  a  stop  to  the  habit  of  pilfering 
before  it  became  general,  and  met  my  continued  asser- 
tions of  innocence  with  a  declaration  that  I  shouldn't 
be  allowed  to  graduate  until  I  should  return  the  missing 
volume  or  furnish  another  copy ;  in  either  case,  of  course, 
submitting  to  some  disciplining  besides. 

"  This  made  things  look  rather  bad.  It  would  be  hard 
enough  on  any  fellow  to  compel  him  to  take  his  choice 
between  proclaiming  himself  a  thief  and  a  liar  when  he 
was  neither,  or  else  forfeiting  his  degree;  but  it  was 
especiall}^  unfortunate  for  me.  My  father,  knowing  my 
natural  proclivities,  had  sent  me  to  college  as  a  sort  of 
an    experiment.     He    had    especially  told    me,  when  I 


A    QUESTION   OF  ETHICS  117 

entered,  that  if  I  got  my  diploma  he  would  take  me 
with  him  into  his  business,  — a  large  and  prosperous 
one,  —  but  that,  if  1  failed  to  pull  through,  I  should  have 
to  take  care  of  mj'self  afterwards;  and  I  knew  that 
he  was  by  all  odds  too  dogmatic  and  absolute  to  be 
prevented  by  any  excuses  or  explanations,  however 
plausible,  from  fulfilling  the  literal  meaning  of  his  words. 

"  One  chance  of  honorable  escape  v/as  still  left.  I  hap- 
pened, by  mere  accident,  to  know  who  it  was  that 
really  had  the  troublesome  book ;  so  I  went  to  him  and 
told  the  story,  attempting  to  prove,  what  seemed  clear 
enough  to  me,  that  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do  was 
to  take  back  the  volume  and  acknowledge  his  responsi- 
bility. I  failed  to  convince  him.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
he  was  on  probation,  and  the  detection  of  the  theft,  as 
he  said,  would  undoubtedly  result  in  his  expulsion.  He 
argued  that,  on  the  other  hand,  I  was  really  in  no  pre- 
dicament at  all,  as  I  could  get  out  of  the  fix  completely 
by  returning  a  copy  of  the  book  to  the  library  under 
protest.  'For,'  said  he,  'if  \'ou  stick  it  out  that  you 
didn't  take  it,  the  faculty  will  be  convinced  that  you 
didn't  anyway,  so  your  reputation  will  be  all  right;  and 
now  they  've  said  they  vsron't  let  you  graduate  unless 
you  replace  the  d — d  thing,  they  won't.' 

"The  truth  of  the  latter  statement  I  realized  only  too 
well.  The  former  I  knew  to  be  unwarranted,  but  I  could 
not  persuade  him  that  such  was  the  case.  I  kept  talk- 
ing on  in  despair,  and  at  last  even  threatened  to  de- 
nounce him;  but  I  had  my  trouble  for  my  pains.  He 
knew  w^ell  enough  that  I  wouldn't  actually  go  so  far 
as  that.     'Denounce,  then,  and  be  a  sneak,'  he  said. 


118  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

'  'T  won't  be  any  worse  for  me  than  if  I  confess  myself,* 
he  added.  The  logic  of  that  remark  was  unanswerable, 
I  knew,  in  the  eyes  of  such  a  fellow^  as  he ;  so  I  wasted 
no  more  breath  on  him. 

"Only  two  alternatives  now  remained,  for  the  false 
sense  of  honor  made  me  dismiss  at  once  the  idea  of  really 
giving  information  against  the  ctilprit.  I  might  refuse  to 
comply  with  the  conditions  for  my  graduation  imposed 
by  the  faculty,  and  throw  away  my  chances  for  a  quick 
rise  in  business ;  or  I  might  return  to  the  library  a  copy 
of  'Marmion,'  and  thus,  in  the  eyes  of  the  college,  ex- 
change my  honor  for  the  degree — for,  in  spite  of  any 
number  of  protests,  everyone  would  have  regarded  such 
a  course  as  practically  an  admission  of  guilt.  The  ques- 
tion w^as,  whether  my  reputation  with  the  few  hundred 
individuals  who  made  up  the  students  and  faculty  was 
worth  the  sacrifice  I  must  undergo  to  keep  it  clean.  I 
spent  a  good  while  in  deliberation,  and  for  a  long  time  I 
was  undecided.  Finally  my  pride  gained  the  upper  hand. 
I  went  to  the  President  and  told  him  that  1  had  positive 
knowledge  that  the  book  had  been  stolen  by  another  fel- 
low; that  I  would  never  plead  guilty  to  a  false  accusa- 
tion, and  that  I  would  not  reveal  the  name  of  the  thief. 
The  result  was  as  I  expected;  the  professors  were 
inflexible,  and  would  not  allow  me  to  receive  a  degree. 

"It  would,  doubtless,  have  made  a  more  dramatic 
story  if  this  incident  had  ruined  all  my  subsequent  life ; 
but  that  was  not  the  case.  Though  I  was  thrown  at 
once  on  my  own  resources,  and  though  the  death  of  my 
father,  three  years  later,  put  an  end  to  the  idea  that  I 
might  finally  get  into  his  business  after  all,  which  some 


A   QUESTION   OF  ETHICS  119 

small  measure  of  success  had  put  into  my  head  — 'Hope 
springs  eternal  in  the'  (what  is  it?)  'human  breast,' 
you  know — still,  I  think  I  have  made  my  way  nearly 
as  well  as  I  should  have  done  in  company  with  him. 
Nevertheless,  it  has  always  been  a  question  with  me, 
and  I  suppose  it  always  will  be.  whether,  considering 
the  circumstances,  I  really  made  the  most  rational 
decision.    What  do  you  think  aliout  it  ?  " 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96. 


What  Care  I? 

IJLJHAT  care  I  if  the  cruel  world 

Shows  its  harsher  side  to  me  ? 
What  care  I  if  fortune  fickle 

Turns  her  back,  nor  smiles  on  me  ? 
What  care  I  if  troubles  come, — 

Friends  desert  me — old  and  new? 
What  care  I  for  all  these  things 
If  one  loving  heart  be  true  ? 

H.  S.  Baketel,  D.  M.  C. 


120  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


Apple  Blossoms. 

^rNDER  the  apple  tree  standing, 

Peeping  half  slyly  from  covert  so  green ; 
Fairest  of  all  the  waving  May  blossoms, 

Maiden,  half  hidden,  half  seen! 
The  full  joyous  notes  of  springtime  welling, 
Thy  praises  alone  to  my  heart  are  telling. 

Beauteous  apple  tree  blossoms ! 

Flowers  by  May  day's  breezes  soft  stirred; 
Fluttering  so  lightly  down  from  the  branches, 

Shaken  by  wandering  bird  ; 
Thy  pink  and  white  tints  in  harmony  blending, 

A  message  of  joy  to  my  heart  are  sending. 

Fragrant  and  quick-fading  blossoms ! 

Mingling  thy  perfume  with  eve's  gentle  dew ! 
Crown  with  the  beauty  of  languishing  petal 

My  darling,  so  tender,  so  true, 
Affection's  own  soul!  whose  love  enduring, 
Eternity's  bliss  to  my  heart's  assuring. 

I.  J.  Cox,  '96. 


9^3 
•  * 


Sherman  Roberts  Moulton,  '98. 


JOHN   FREE  MAX  121 


John  Freeman. 


T  KNEW  John  Freeman  very  well.  Fie  was  in  my  class, 
that  of  186-,  and  we  were  thrown  together  very 
much,  since  the  Dartmouth  of  those  days  was  not  so 
large  as  now.  John  was  a  typical  New  Englander,  tall, 
raw-boned  and  strong,  with  an  honest,  open  tace  that 
made  yon  instinctively  feel  that  he  was  a  man  to  be 
trusted.  He  was  "slow  in  speech  and  slow  in  wrath," 
and  a  hard  worker,  for  he  was  poor  and  must  make  his 
w^ay  in  the  w^orld. 

A  direct  contrast  to  him  in  most  points  w^as  his  room- 
mate and  chum,  Harry  Fitzhugh,  of  Richmond,  Virginia. 
Harry  was  rather  short,  dark  and  wiry,  and  in  tem- 
perament a  regular  Southerner.  He  had  one  of  the 
finest  tenor  voices  in  college,  and  many  times  have  I 
listened  to  his  singing,  accompanied  with  many  a  false 
note  from  his  room-mate's  banjo. 

It  seemed  surprising  to  many,  that  tw^o  men  so  unlike 
as  John  and  Harry  should  be  such  friends.  Indeed,  they 
said  that  the  only  point  that  the  two  held  in  common 
was  the  love  of  truth.  The  reason  of  their  friendship 
was  this.  One  day,  while  skating  on  the  Connecticut, 
Harry  had  ventured  upon  some  thin  ice,  which  had 
broken  under  his  weight,  and  he  would  probably  have 
been  drowned  had  not  John  come  to  the  rescue.  This 
had  happened  in  the  winter  of  their  Freshman  year,  and 
from  that  time  they  were  hardly  ever  separate,  until 


122  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

the  event  came  which  was  to  change  the  course  of  their 
lives — the  civil  w^ar. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  the  little  New  England 
college  when  the  news  of  the  firing  upon  Fort  Sumter 
reached  Hanover,  and  all  realized  that  the  war  had,  in 
truth,  begun.  Those  Southerners  who  had  not  already- 
gone  home  now  did  so,  and  among  the  number  was 
Harry  Fitzhugh.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  say  good-bye 
to  John,  and  the  two  vowed  eternal  friendship,  and  each 
promised  to  aid  the  other  if  in  trouble.  Then  they 
parted,  and  John  went  to  enlist  in  the  regiment  which 
was  being  organized  at  his  home. 

The  rest  of  the  story  is  known  by  hearsay  alone. 
Harry  Fitzhugh  went  steadily  up  in  the  scale  of  rank, 
until,  in  1863,  he  was  made  colonel  for  gallantry  upon 
the  field.  Indeed,  so  brave  was  he,  that  when  a  man 
was  needed  for  a  particularly  important  and  perilous 
mission,  he  was  naturally  the  man  selected.  Entering 
the  Union  lines  in  disguise,  he  succeeded  in  discharging 
his  business,  and  had  all  but  escaped,  when  he  was  dis- 
covered and  pursued.  Wounded  by  a  shot  from  his  pur- 
suers, he  stumbled  and  fell,  but  the  enemy  had  lost  track 
of  him,  and  for  a  time  he  was  secure.  Later  on,  how- 
ever, he  was  discovered,  lying  behind  a  log,  by  one  of 
the  soldiers,  who  was  none  other  than  his  old  college 
chum,  John  Freeman.  Filled  with  pity  for  the  wounded 
man,  and  the  ties  of  friendship  triumphing  over  the  de- 
mands of  Avitj,  John  helped  him  to  escape.  The  two 
friends  never  met  again.  John  fell  in  a  skirmish  only 
two  days  afterwards,  and  Harry,  who  told  me  this  tale, 

is  living  now  in  Richmond. 

S.  R.  MouLTON,  '98. 


J  J  J  J 


DARTMOUTH  HALL   SPEAKS  123 


Dartmouth  Hall  Speaks. 


T 


O  be  toru  down ! 

So  soon  forgotten  all  our  past  ? 
A  centurv-  of  struggles  classed 
As  naught  ?    And,  Dartmouth,  when  at  last 
We  've  won,  you  'd  tear  me  down. 

To  be  torn  down ! 
Sons  of  "  Old  Dartmouth,"  you  're  my  own. 
Will  you  see  me  thus  overthrown  ? 
Your  boasted  love  for  me  outgrown 
So  soon  ?    Then  tear  me  down. 

To  be  torn  down ! 
No,  Honored  College,  vain  my  fears! 
A  parent  weighed  by  honored  years 
Is  safe.    A  century's  love  endears 
Too  well  to  be  crushed  down. 

F.  V.  Bennis,  '98. 


124  ECHOES    FROM   DARTMOUTH 


A  College  Picture. 

TT  is  autumn,  and  college  life  has  again  begun.  It  is 
early  dawn  and  quiet  broods  over  the  slumbering 
village.  The  golden  beams  of  the  morning  sun  rise 
peacefully  from  their  hiding,  over  the  beautiful  eastern 
hills,  and  shed  their  benediction  on  the  old  group  of 
classic  structures.  The3'  seem  to  kiss  the  blushing  fol- 
iage of  the  historic  maples  and  scintillate  in  regal  splen- 
dor among  the  crystal  drops  of  dew.  Mists  are  dissi- 
pating from  the  campus,  a  dense  bank  of  fog  is  hovering 
o'er  the  river  and  all  is  still. 


The  evening  songs  have  been  sung.  The  occasional 
blow  on  the  table,  as  the  winning  card  goes  down,  is  no 
longer  heard.  The  midnight  "feed  "  is  over.  The  latest 
nocturnal  rambler  has  returned  and  drawn  his  nightly 
shroud  about  him.  All,  from  the  jolly  fat  man  to  the 
gravest  old  "plugger,"  are  enjoying  that  last  sweet  re- 
pose on  the  boundarj^  between  night  and  day.  A  calm 
and  peaceful  serenity  rests  on  the  scene.  There  is  not  a 
stir,  nor  a  voice.  All  is  still  —  gravely  still  —  still  like 
death — the  only  quiet  hour  in  a  college  town. 

»*****»♦ 

In  an  instant  all  is  changed.  Out  peal  the  tones  of 
the  old  college  bell,  echoing  in  startling  reverberations 


John  Henry  Bartlett,  '94.. 


A    COLLEGE   PICTURE  125 

through  chamber  and  hall.  Hundreds  of  classic  sleepers 
spring  from  their  couches,  suddenly  aroused  to  thoughts 
of  breakfast,  chapel,  and  studies.  From  every  dormi- 
tory they  pour  forth.  The  campus  is  alive  with  lines  of 
hurrying  forms,  scarcely  yet  awake  to  life.  And  yet  they 
continue  to  come,  hastily  darting  from  the  doors,  as  the 
sleepy  eyes  are  pulled  through  the  sweater,  until  the 
latest  slumberer  is  in  action. 

Soon  the  lines  of  humanity  are  reversed.  In  a  studious 
mood  all  are  wending  their  ways  toward  the  chapel. 
Again  strikes  up  the  bell.  All  paces  quicken.  The  last 
fifteen  warning  strokes  begin.  The  rear  of  the  line  is  on 
the  run.  They  are  fast  counting  off  the  strokes.  A  few 
stragglers  are  sprinting  down  the  campus.  Alas,  the 
double  stroke — the  doors  close  with  an  ominous  bang. 
At  the  Rood  House  comer  the  sprinters  stop  in  despair, 
sigh  for  breath,  grieve  for  another  "cut,"  and  the  comedy 
of  the  morning  has  been  played. 

J.  H.  Bartlett,  '94. 


126  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


"WooDiN'  Up." 

Our  daddies  set  the  custom, 
( Ah,  bless  'em,  how  we  trust  'em, ) 
A-stamping  fit  to  bust  'em, 
Woodin'  up! 

Let  roll  the  solefal  thunder 
At  Dick's  all-harmless  blunder. 
"  Get  up !  "    What  horse  ?  we  wonder, 
Woodin'  up! 

The  good  pine  floors  have  stood  it 
While  class  on  class  have  wood  it. 
Let  die  the  custom !    Could  it, 
Woodin'  up  ? 

No,  no !    Let 's  go  out  dusty 
From  our  Dartmouth,  good  and  trusty. 
And  our  custom  never  rusty, 
Woodin'  up ! 

G.  A.  Green,  '98. 


A.V  EXPERIENCE  WITH  THE  RHO  KAP'S         127 


An  Experience  with  the  Rho  Kap's. 

TT  was  raining  hard,  and  Boston  on  a  wet  night  is  a 
most  disagreeable  city.  Washington  and  Tremont 
streets  were  crowded  with  hurrying  people.  It  was  one 
of  those  cold  September  nights  which  give  warning  of 
the  coming  winter.  At  every  fresh  gust  of  wind  the 
traveller  buttoned  his  coat  more  tightly  about  him  and 
hastened  toward  home. 

One  stranger  alone  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry,  as  he 
stood  gazing  about  him,  debating  whether  or  not  he 
should  proceed.  He  did  not  long  hesitate,  however,  as 
a  big,  red-nosed  patrolman  came  along  just  then,  and 
cried  out : 

"Come,  get  a  move  on,  will  yer;  don't  block  up  the 
sidewalk  that  way." 

The  stranger,  a  large  countrified-looking  chap,  who 
could  have  crushed  the  big-waisted  policeman  with  one 
blow,  turned,  startled  by  the  angry  command,  and 
began  to  excuse  himself.  "I  didn't  mean  any  offense, 
sir ;  I  was  looking  for  the  street  that  leads  to  the  Union 
Station,  and  — " 

"None  of  yer  'back  talk,'  now,  or  I'll  rim  yer  in;  see!  " 
broke  in  the  officer. 

The  stranger  was  about  to  make  an  angry  retort,  but, 
on  second  thought,  turned  and  went  down  the  street. 

A  bright,  good-looking  little  fellow,  who  had  heard  the 


128  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

conversation,  hurried  up  to  the  stranger  and  asked  if  he 
could  be  of  any  assistance  to  him. 

"Well,"  answered  the  big  fellow,  with  a  peculiar 
Western  drawl,  "  I  should  like  to  find  the  Union  Station, 
if  it  ain't  too  much  trouble  for  you  to  show  me." 

"  Why,  certainly  not,"  answered  the  boy ;  "  I  am  going 
that  way  myself,  and — here's  a  car  now.  Jump  on!" 
After  they  were  seated  he  said:  "I  am  afraid  our  police 
are  not  very  polite,  but  then  you  get  used  to  that  sort  of 
thing  after  you  have  lived  here  awhile.  Are  you  going 
to  take  one  of  the  evening  trains  out  of  the  city  ?  " 

**  Yes,  I  intend  to  take  the  late  train  for  Hanover,  New 
Hampshire,  where  I  am  going  to  college." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to  enter 
Dartmouth?" 

"  Yes ;  do  you  know  anyone  there  ?  " 

"  You  bet  I  do ;  my  father  gradu:ited  there  in  the  six- 
ties, and  I  am  going  up  there  tomorrow  myself  and 
enter  as  a  Freshman,  so  I  suppose  we  shall  be  class- 
mates. How  funny  that  we  should  meet  in  this  way. 
Gee!  but  won't  you  make  a  corker  for  the  loot-ball 
team?" 

The  stranger  smiled,  and  said  he  did  not  know  any- 
thing about  the  game. 

"O,  that  don't  matter  much,"  quickly  replied  the 
other,  "you  '11  soon  learn.  But  here  we  have  been  talk- 
ing at  a  great  rate  and  do  n't  know  each  other  yet.  My 
name  is  Archie  Kimball;  'Shorty,'  the  boys  over  to  the 
Latin  School  call  me." 

"And  mine  is  Scott  Raymond,  from  Eagle  Heights, 
Arkansas." 


AN  EXPERIENCE  WITH  THE  RHO  KAP'S         129 

''Well,  here  we  are  at  tlie  Union  Station,"  said  Archie, 
as  they  started  to  get  out  of  the  car,  "and  a  good 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  train  goes." 

Everything  was  rush  and  bustle  for  the  next  few  min- 
utes, and  half  an  hour  later  found  the  two  newly-made 
friends  on  the  way  to  their  respective  destinations ;  the 
one,  rejoicing  in  his  lucky  acquaintance,  the  other,  happy 
because  he  had  met  a  future  classmate. 

About  a  week  later  the  two  friends  were  installed  as 
Freshmen,  and  already  Raymond  had  given  promise  of 
a  great  foot-ball  player.  The  two  men  so  oddly  matched 
became  great  chums,  and  were  to  be  found  together  al- 
most every  evening.  One  night,  about  ten  o'clock,  Ray- 
mond was  just  leaving  Archie's  room,  when  he  heard  a 
party  of  students  coming  in  their  direction,  and  caught 
a  snatch  of  the  song:  "Rho  Kap'  I  am,  Rho  Kap'  I'll 
be,  Rho  Kap'  through  all  eternity." 

"That  is  the  Sophomore  hazing  society,"  said  Archie, 
"and  they  are  coming  over  to  have  some  fun  with  me, 
because  I  blew  a  horn  after  the  foot-ball  rush,  the  other 
night.  You  'd  better  not  stay,  as  they  may  make  trouble 
for  you." 

"If  they  touch  you  while  I  am  here,"  returned  Ray- 
mond, "there  will  be  trouble.  The  cowards  dare  not 
take  anyone  of  their  own  size." 

"They  are  knocking  now,"  said  Archie.  "Come  in," 
and  in  walked  ten  or  fifteen  Sophs. 

"We  want  you,  Kimball,"  said  the  leader,  a  sporty- 
looking  fellow,  with  a  tumed-up  nose  and  sneering 
mouth. 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Archie. 


130  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

"No  joking,  Freshman;  come  along  with  us  and  do  as 
you  are  told." 

"But  what  if  I  don't  propose  to  let  him,"  said  Ray- 
mond in  his  slow,  drawling  style,  as  he  began  to  remove 
his  coat. 

"You  have  nothing  to  say  about  it,"  answered  the 
leader  angrily,  and  started  for  Archie,  saying,  "Come 
on,  boys." 

He  had  got  about  half-waj^  across  the  room  when  he 
found  his  shoulder  in  a  vise-like  grasp.  In  less  time  than 
it  takes  to  tell,  Raymond  knocked  the  two  leaders' 
heads  together  and  then  grabbed  those  nearest  him. 
The  room  was  in  a  great  state  of  commotion,  and  Rho 
Kap's  were  sprawling  about  in  all  directions.  Those 
nearest  the  door  sought  safety  in  flight,  and  Archie 
looked  on  with  w^onder  as  his  friend  vented  his  rage  on 
the  unfortunate  hazers. 

"And  now,"  said  Raymond,  giving  the  leader  a  final 
cuff,  "if  you  or  your  crowd  ever  lay  your  hands  on  my 
friend,  I  '11  trounce  every  one  of  you  on  sight."  And  he 
looked  as  if  he  meant  every  word  he  said. 

The  Rho  Kap's  were  fully  convinced  that  the  new  foot- 
ball star  was  capable  of  carrying  out  his  threat,  and  it 
is  needless  to  say  that  Archie  Kimball  was  not  hazed 
that  fall. 

"And  to  think,"  said  Archie  to  his  chum  one  day, 
while  talking  over  their  impressions  of  the  first  few 
weeks,  "only  think  how  strangely  it  happened  that  I 
was  not  'Rho  Kapped.'  My  little  assistance  to  you  in 
Boston  was  surely  more  than  repaid." 

B.  C.  Taylor,  '97. 


CHAPEL  BELL  131 


Chapel  Bell. 


"LJLJHAT  cuts  athwart  the  morning  air, 
^^  (Winter  air!) 

Arousing  me  to  daylight's  glare, 
From  my  lair  ? 

Chapel  Bell! 

What  makes  me  chew  my  morning  steak 

( Leathern  steak ! ) 
In  haste;  some  crullers  grab,  and  make 

A  speedv  break  ? 

Chapel  Bell! 

What  makes  me  take  a  morning  slide 

( Icy  slide ! ) 
Across  the  campus,  on  the  glide, 
Feet  denied  ? 

Chapel  Bell! 

Single  strokes. 
G.  A.  Green.  '98. 


132  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  New  Quadrangle. 

n^HE  greatest  single  change  ever  brought  about  in 
1  Dartmouth's  external  appearance  will  be  the  erec- 
tion of  the  proposed  "quadrangle."  Perhaps,  however, 
it  is  hardly  accurate  to  speak  of  this  as  a  single  ad- 
dition ;  for  the  buildings  composing  the  completed  whole, 
as  shown  in  the  picture,  will  be  erected  at  considerable 
intervals  of  time. 

Early  in  1894  the  authorities  began  to  lay  plans  for 
the  much-needed  expansion  in  material  equipment.  As 
they  decided  to  work  on  a  scheme  capable  of  sufficient 
increase  in  the  future,  they  found  available  for  the  halls 
only  three  locations.  One,  the  portion  of  Observatory 
Hill  between  the  Medical  College  and  the  dormitories, 
would  have  demanded  a  rather  crowded  arrangement  in 
two  parallel  terraces,  and  would  have  been  very  expen- 
sive. At  present,  be  it  remarked  in  passing,  one  build- 
ing, a  physical  laboratory,  may  soon  be  placed  in  that 
region,  just  to  the  north-east  of  the  chapel.  The  second 
possible  situation,  the  east  side  of  North  College  street, 
seemed  little  better  than  the  first;  the  third,  and  last, 
was  the  square  on  which  stands  the  church.  This  plan 
was  advised  by  Frederick  Law  Olmsted  &  Co.,  land- 
scape architects,  and  the  proposal  contemplated  the 
purchase  of  the  square  as  a  whole  and  the  erection  upon 
it  of  a  regular  closed  quadrangle ;  but,  as  some  of  the 


c  c  c 


C   I  <  c 

c  •  c.  < 


«  ctt         «*< 


-      THE  NEW  QUADRANGLE  133 

property  could  not  be  secured,  the  trustees  determined 
to  use  instead  only  the  southern  half  and  to  construct 
there  a  three-quarter  quadrangle,  including  the  church, 
open  toward  the  campus. 

In  the  spring  of  1895  ground  was  broken  for  the  cen- 
tral edifice,  the  Butterfield  Museum  of  Palaeontology, 
Archeology,  Ethnology,  and  kindred  sciences,  provided 
for  by  the  will  of  Dr.  Ralph  Butterfield,  of  Kansas  City, 
an  alumnus  of  the  Class  of  1839.  This  appears  in  the 
centre  of  the  view.  It  will  be  finished  by  Commence- 
ment, 1896,  at  a  cost  of  $70,000.  Its  dimensions  are 
145  and  55  feet  respectively;  its  style,  Ionic;  and  the 
materials  employed  in  its  construction,  Lebanon  granite, 
"Milwaukee  brick,"  Indiana  sandstone,  and  terra  cotta. 
It  will  contain  recitation  rooms,  as  well  as  the  collec- 
tions. Next,  in  chronological  order,  will  be  the  Memo- 
rial Hall,  which  may  be  begun  in  1896  or  1897,  and 
will  occupy  a  position  corresponding  on  the  east  to 
that  of  the  church  on  the  west,  about  on  the  site  of  the 
present  "Rood  House."  The  necessary  funds,  of  which 
$15,000  are  already  subscribed,  are  being  raised  among 
the  alumni.  Its  lower  floor  will  probably  be  occupied 
by  the  departments  of  administration,  and  will  contain 
the  offices  of  the  president,  trustees,  dean,  and  treasurer. 
Its  second  storj--  may  be  devoted  to  an  auditorium,  and, 
in  any  case,  will  be  adorned  with  the  portraits  and  pic- 
tures illustrative  of  the  history  of  the  college.  On  either 
side  of  the  Museum,  the  rear  of  each  on  a  line  with  the 
front  of  the  Museum,  will  stand  a  recitation  building: 
one  devoted  to  history,  political  science,  philosophy,  and 
kindred  subjects;  the  other  to  the  languages,  ancient 


134  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

and  modern.  These  three  projected  structures  will  be 
of  light  material,  to  harmonize  with  that  of  the  one 
already  under  construction.  Before  they  are  completed, 
the  houses  now  fronting  the  street  will  be  removed  and 
the  ground  graded  in  a  uniform  slope  to  the  level  of  the 
campus.  The  interior  court  will  be  200  feet  square,  an 
area  to  be  made  possible  by  the  shifting  of  the  side- 
walk on  the  east.  All  the  buildings  will  be  heated  from 
a  central  station.  They  will  be  connected  by  an  inner 
coUonade  of  pillars,  and  will  present  a  very  imposing 

appearance. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96. 


"Good  Work!" 

IJLJHEN  a  man  has  shovsm  himself  above 
^^     The  ordinary  push  and  shove, — 
Deserves  a  hearty  word  of  praise, 
At  Dartmouth,  we've  a  homely  phrase: 
"  Good  work,  old  man !  " 

The  Dartmouth  man,  with  sturdy  nerve, 
On  top,  and  never  known  to  swerve, 
Awaits,  in  life,  the  coming  day 
The  world  shall  clap  his  back,  and  say: 
"  Good  work,  old  man !  " 

G.  A,  Green,  '98. 


George  Abbott  Green.  '98. 


I      t  t  •    •. 

C      C       C      6     *• 

t  «       e    c  *  c 


DRIFTING  SONG  135 


Drifting  Song. 

LXJAVELETS  lifting  my  little  boat, 
^^     Gently  drifting,  I  lie  and  float 
Over  the  boundless  sea. 
Wavelets  plashing  against  my  bed, 
Thunders  clashing  over  my  head, 

Both  are  as  one  to  me : 
Both  are  as  one,  as  I  sink  to  sleep, 
Roaming  the  deep. 

Oh,  the  bliss  of  the  surcease  of  pain !     . 
Soothed  by  the  kiss  of  the  waters,  I  gain 

Peace  for  a  moment  and  rest — 
A  moment's  setting  aside  of  strife, 
A  moment's  forgetting  of  this  sad  life 

By  sorrow  oppressed. 
An  infinite  rest  for  an  instant  to  know 
From  infinite  woe. 

Drifting  ever,  1  thus  would  stray, 
Greeting  never  again  the  day. 

Through  the  unchanging  night ; 
Only  waking  to  hear  the  roar 
Of  surges  breaking  upon  the  shore 

That  fringes  the  realms  of  light; 
There,  in  Elysian  fields,  to  find 
Sweet  peace  of  mind. 

K.  Knowlton,  '94. 


136  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 


A  Dartmouth  Song. 

NARTMOUTH,  'mid  thy  hills  enthroned, 
Where,  o'er  summits  purple-coned. 
The  eagles  soar,  — 
Thine  the  majesty  we  sing ! 
Loudly  let  the  anthem  ring, 
Wide  around  reechoing,  — 
Dartmouth  evermore. 

Queen  of  the  North !    Her  classic  brow- 
Arts  and  sciences  endow. 

And  ancient  lore. 
Clear  and  bright  her  radiant  crown, 
Sheds  the  light  of  learning  do^wn, — 
Spreads  afar  her  fair  renown,  — 

Dartmouth  evermore ! 

Distant  lands  ma\'^  claim  her  sons. 
Where  the  broad  Missouri  runs, 

Or  rapids  roar. 
Still,  however  far  we  ^y, 
Love  for  her  shall  never  die, — 
Still  we  bear  her  banner  high,  — 

Dartmouth  evermore ! 

G.  C.  Selden,  '93. 


AN  INCIDENT  IN   COI^LEGB  LIFE  137 


An  Incident  in  College  Life. 

TT  was  a  cold,  frosty  night  of  February,  a  few  days  be- 
fore Washington's  Birthday.  A  stranger  to  Hanover, 
judging  from  external  appearances,  would  scarcely  have 
supposed  himself  to  be  in  a  college  town,  for,  although 
the  evening  was  yet  young,  the  streets  were  almost 
completely  deserted  by  students. 

Of  course  the  office  of  the  "Wheelock"  contained  its 
usual  quota  of  "students  about  town,"  as  a  certain 
class  of  so-called  "  rag-chewers "  might  well  be  desig- 
nated, who  were  sitting  or  standing  in  groups,  discussing 
topics  ranging  from  base-ball  prospects  to  the  theory  of 
evolution  or  the  "  Evidences  of  Christianity." 

The  store-fronts,  even,  were  subjected,  for  once,  to  a 
test  as  to  their  ability  to  stand  alone,  being  deprived  of 
their  usual  "  townie  "  support. 

But  college  life,  in  all  its  various  in-door  phases,  was 
flowing  smoothly  on  in  the  various  students'  rooms ; 
and  it  is  one  of  those  rooms  which  we  wrill  now  look  in 
upon. 

'Round  a  blazing  open  fire  were  seated  three  Sopho- 
mores, engaged  in  discussing  the  approaching  Freshman 
class  supper. 

"I  tell  you,"  the  foot-ball  man  was  saying,  "this  class 
will  be  everlastingly  disgraced  if  those  blooming  Fresh- 


138  ECHOES   FROM   DARTMOUTH 

men  are  allowed  to  have  their  banquet,  while  ninety 

sits  around  like  a  flock  of  j^oung  lambs  and  does  not 
make  a  move  to  interfere."     • 

"You're  dead  right,  me  boy,"  put  in  the  base-ball 
man,  w^hose  language  w^as  always  a  trifle  idiomatic. 
"They  have  had  a  soft  thing  so  far.  This  class  is  in  a 
trance." 

"Do  you  remember  how  ninety tried  to  swipe  our 

toast-master  last  year?  How  he  escaped  through  the 
back  window  while  his  room-mate  held  forty  Sophs,  at 
bay,  and  how  the  whole  class  kept  guard  for  — " 

"What,  again?"  This  last  came  from  an  athletic 
young  fellow  who  had  been  stretched  at  ease  on  the 
window-seat,  apparently  asleep. 

"  You  fellow^s  make  me  more  tired  than  one  of  B 's 

lectures,"  he  said,  slowly  raising  himself  to  a  sitting 
posture.  "This  is  about  the  fiftieth  time  this  week  I 
have  heard  this  same  talk.  Now,  I  have  a  little  pro- 
posal to  make,  which  will  decide  w^hether  or  not  you  are 

so  anxious  to  do  something  for  the  honor  of  ninety . 

It  is  this:  I  will  go  directly  o-ver  to  Hamp's,  get  a  two- 
seated  sleigh  and  his  best  horses,  and  we  w^ill  drive  over 

to  T 's  room  ( for  he  has  some  prominent  part  in  their 

exercises),  pick  him  up  and  take  him  to  Newton  Inn. 
There  we  will  keep  him  until  the  night  of  our  banquet, 
and  he  shall  respond  to  a  complimentary  toast  to  our 
class."  Without  waiting  to  hear  the  deluge  of  surprised 
and  chaflSng  sentences  which  greeted  this,  the  longest 
speech  of  his  life,  the  man  of  few  words,  but  much 
action,  picked  up  his  hat  and  coat  and  started  rapidly 
across  the  snow-covered  campus. 


AN  INCIDENT  IN   COLLEGE  LIFE  139 

Not  more  than  two  good  bets  had  been  arranged  as  to 
whether  it  was  a  bluff,  when  a  "  Come  on,  fellows !  Get 
a  hustle!  "  sounded  through  the  night  air. 

There  was  no  chance  to  back  out  now,  even  if  they 
had  so  desired,  and  within  three  minutes  they  were 
knocking  at  the  door  of  the  luckless  Freshman.  Being 
told  to  come  in  they  did  so,  and  told  their  victim  to 

prepare  for  a  short  drive  with  them.    T "tumbled" 

at  once,  but,  seeing  no  way  of  escape,  picked  up  a  few 
necessaries  and  followed  his  captors.  After  a  short,  but 
decisive,  argument  with  a  few  Freshmen  who  chanced  to 
happen  along,  and  a  showing  of  empty  revolvers  on 
both  sides,  the  sleigh  was  driven  rapidly  away. 

Now  a  change  occurred,  and  the  stranger  would  no 
longer  have  reason  to  doubt  that  he  was  in  a  college 
town.  From  Reed,  Thornton,  Dartmouth,  and  all  the 
other  dormitories  and  college  rooms,  poured  a  steady 
stream  of  excited  students,  in  answer  to  the  alarm  of 
the  Freshmen  who  had  seen  the  kidnapping;  and  soon 
there  might  be  seen  on  every  comer  knots  of  excited 
Freshmen  and  complacent  Sophomores  discussing  the 
affair. 

The  leaders  of  the  Freshman  class  were  not  long  in- 
active, and  within  less  than  half  an  hour  four  sleighs 
were  being  driven  at  top-speed  in  as  many  different  direc- 
tions. Long  after  midnight,  however,  they  returned, 
unsuccessful,  but  not  entirely  discouraged. 

The  next  day  passed  with  the  same  result.  But,  mean- 
while, the  "powers  that  be"  had  forbidden  the  Sopho- 
more class  supper,  unless  the  luckless  Freshman  should 
be  delivered  within  a  few  hours,  this  side  up  with  care. 


140  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 

But  no  move  was  made  toward  returning  him,  and  it 
began  to  look  like  a  rebellion  on  a  small  scale,  as  prepa- 
rations for  both  suppers  were  going  steadily  forward. 

How  it  all  ended,  and  without  rebellion,  can  perhaps 
best  be  shown  by  looking  in  upon  the  same  trio  of 
Sophomores  gathered  around  the  same  open  fireplace. 
They  were  complacently  discussing  the  great  success  of 
the  scheme  of  their  chum,  the  man  of  few  words,  and 
wondering  if  he  was  enjoying  his  duty  of  guarding  the 
Freshman,  when  suddenly  he  broke  in  upon  them,  his 
coat  torn,  his  hair  dishevelled,  and  his  bleeding  face 
wearing  a  disgusted  look. 

To  the  numerous  eager  and  excited  questions  hurled 
at  him  he  would  only  respond,  "Swiped  back  by  six 
Freshmen."  Sitting  down  at  his  desk  he  wrote  rapidly 
for  a  few  minutes,  then,  tossing  the  paper  to  his  friends, 
went  out  of  the  room  without  another  word,  leaving 
them  to  read  the  following  resolution,  which  was  unan- 
imously adopted  by  the  class  the  next  morning : 

"  Resolved  :  That  a  committee  of  two  be  appointed  to 
inform  the  faculty  that  their  demand  in  regard  to  Fresh- 
man T has  been  complied  with,  and  that  he  has 

returned." 

N.  L  Foster,  '96. 


TO  A   ROBIN  14,1 


To  A  Robin. 

OHIEF  songster  in  the  chorus  of  the  mom, 

Oft  hast  thou  roused  me  with  thy  roundelay, 
Ere  yet  a  shape  of  night  had  slunk  away, 
Or  yet  a  blush  within  the  east  was  bom ; 
So  eager  thou,  glad  herald  of  the  dawn. 
To  wake  thy  feathered  minstrels  and  essay 
To  trill  the  rapturous  welcome  to  the  day 
With  bubbling  throats,  and  banish  night  forlorn. 

O,  happy  bird,  I  would  thy  faith  were  mine. 
That  in  the  storm  and  darkness  I  could  see 
A  ray  of  hope,  a  hint  of  dawn,  and  sing. 
I  would  my  heart  could  feel  the  light  as  thine. 
For  every  shade  is  doubly  dark  to  me, 
And  only  in  the  sun  my  fears  take  wing. 

F.  L.  Pattee,  '88. 


14,2  ECHOES    FROM  DARTMOUTH 


The  Tower. 

LXJHEN  the  class  of  '85  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
^^  Tower,  the  Old  Pine  stood  as  staunch  a  tree  as  the 
proudest  elm  that  now  overlooks  the  campus.  Its  scores 
of  winters  were  borne  so  lightly  that  none  could,  in  im- 
agination, look  but  ten  years  ahead  and  see  a  whitened 
stump  marking  the  spot  where,  for  a  century  and  a 
quarter,  the  old  woodland  king  had  so  well  guarded  its 
charge. 

It  is  singularly  appropriate  that,  in  the  same  year 
when  the  third  stroke  of  lightning  had  at  last  destroyed 
the  Pine,  this  tower  should  be  capped  on  almost  the 
same  spot  where  the  tree  had  stood,  for  the  Tower  was 
in  no  wise  planned  as  a  successor. 

So  familiar  had  its  figure  become  on  this  highest  point 
of  the  college  land,  that,  were  it  not  for  the  Tower,  the 
hill  where  the  Old  Pine  laid  down  its  long  and  honored 
life,  would  look  bare  indeed. 

With  President  Bartlett  the  idea  of  its  erection  origi- 
nated. '85  laid  the  foundation,  and  '95,  the  last  class 
to  enter  under  Dr.  Bartlett 's  administration,  put  on  the 
cap.  The  total  height  is  seventy-one  feet,  and  a  climb 
up  the  spiral  stairwaj^  of  eighty-six  steps,  places  before 
one  a  living  map  of  the  college, — the  Athletic  Oval,  the 
Campus,  the  Chapel,  the  Halls,  —  all  Dartmouth  living 
and  moving  just  beneath. 


The  Tower. 


t  « 
t  c  •  •  c  c  e 
•    •••■«   c      • 

c  t       c    c  »  e    e      e 
c       <         c     t      «.      c  e 


THE   TOWER  143 

But  one  accident  occurred  during  the  erection.  When 
the  structure  was  about  half  completed,  the  staging 
broke,  allowing  three  workmen  to  tall  upon  the  rocks 
below.  The  men  were  all  badly  bruised,  though  only 
one  of  them  severely  hurt. 

The  material  of  which  the  Tower  is  built  is  hornblend- 
schist,  a  native  rock  found  nearby  in  great  abundance. 

Funds  were  raised  by  class  taxes.  '85  laid  the  founda- 
tions. The  next  five  classes  added  eight  feet  each.  '91 
added  six  feet,  and  '92  the  same  number.  '93  and  '94 
combined,  and  in  the  spring  of  '93  added  three  and  four 
feet  respectively.  '94  completed  the  stone-work,  and  '95 
gave  the  finishing  touches  by  the  addition  of  a  cap 
twelve  feet  above  this.  At  the  left  of  the  main  en- 
trance there  has  been  placed  a  copper  plate  bearing  the 
following  inscription : 


THIS    TOWER, 

SUGGESTED   BY  PRESIDENT   BARTLETT 

WAS   ERECTED 

BY  SUBSCRIPTIONS  FROM  THE  CLASSES 

OF 

1885  TO   1895 

INCLUSIVE. 

F.  V.  Bennis,  '98. 


liM  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 


Sp 


The  Tower. 

EN  years  have  sped  since  first  they  laid  thy  base, 

Ten  classes  gone  and  now  thou  art  complete ; 
What  awe  thy  noble  majesty  awakes 
In  all  who,  gazing,  tarry  at  thy  feet. 

O,  happy  heart,  who  first  conceived  the  thought 
Of  lifting  thee  upon  this  rocky  hill, 
Glad  thoughts  of  him  shall  ever  fill  the  soul 
As  long  as  thou  and  men  remain  here  still. 

Thou  waitest  like  some  giant  priest  of  old ; 

Thy  plated  breast  is  turned  to  the  west, 

Its  jewels'  numbers  plainly  cut  in  gray. 

Which  speak  the  voice  of  those  who  love  thee  best. 

Through  coming  years  thine  eyes  will  stretch  afar 
And  look  upon  these  pastures  sweet  in  peace; 
The  waving  river  'mid  the  distant  pines 
Will  flow  away  ere  yet  thy  watch  shall  cease. 

Thy  kindly  face  will  welcome  all  who  come 
To  this,  the  home  our  Alma  Mater  keeps ; 
Thou  'It  gaze  upon  them  as  they  speed  away. 
While  on  thy  breast  the  Alrna  Mater  weeps. 


■*t%%        >  I  1  » 


J  it  1. 
»        > 


Warren  Fenno  Gregory,  '88. 


I^OVE'S  ROSES  ^  145 

When  he  who  views  thee  now  is  bent  with  age, 
When  storm  and  wind  have  beat  on  thee  in  vain, 
Perhaps,  with  heavy  step  and  trembling  staff 
He  '11  come  and  look  upon  thee  once  again. 

F.  H.  Swift,  '98. 


LOVE'S  Roses. 

I IR  TRISTRAM'S  sword  was  brave  and  keen, 

In  the  sunlight  flashing  bright, 
But  oh !  so  deathly  grim,  I  ween, 

I  could  not  bear  the  sight. 

Sir  Tristram's  heart  was  true  and  leal. 

So  manly,  high  and  bold. 
But  ah !  full  like  his  gleaming  steel, 

All  stern  it  seemed,  and  cold. 

And  so  I  took  the  roses  fair 
And  wreathed  the  ghastly  blade ; 

All  peacefully  it  nestled  there, 
I  no  more  was  afraid. 

And  lo !  the  knight,  by  some  sweet  art, 

Grew  warm  to  me,  and  kind ; 
I  little  knew  that  'round  his  heart 

The  flowers  of  love  I  twined ! 

W.  F.  Gregory,  '88. 


10 


146  ECHOES   FROM  DARTMOUTH 


A  Table 

/GIVING  the  date  of  erection,  or  purchase,  of  all  the 
H  regular  college  buildings  from  the  beginning,  the 
purposes  for  which  they  have  been  used,  the  dates  of 
their  destruction,  etc. 

1770.  First  log  hut  built.  It  was  about  eighteen  feet 
square,  and  stood  at  first  about  ten  rods  west  of  the 
house  on  Main  street  now  owned  by  Miss  McMurphy. 
It  was  soon  moved,  because  of  lack  of  water,  to  a  spot 
just  north  of  Reed  Hall  and  west  of  Thornton,  and  occu- 
pied by  the  family  of  the  president,  and,  after  his  house 
was  built,  by  his  servants.    Demolished  about  1782. 

1770.  Wheelock's  first  house  built.  It  w^as  of  boards, 
one  story  high,  with  an  attic;  40  feet  by  32  feet  and  10 
feet  high  in  the  posts.  It  was  originally  built  near  the 
log  hut,  and  at  once  moved  to  a  spot  on  the  present 
common,  about  two  rods  south-west  of  the  weU.  It 
fronted  the  south.  In  1774,  by  the  help  of  the  citizens, 
thirty  feet,  with  a  belfry,  was  added  at  the  west  end. 
The  eastern  third  was  then  used  for  a  commons,  and  a 
*' lean-to"  kitchen  added  on  the  north  side.  The  rest 
was  made  into  a  large  room,  used  hy  the  College  and 
citizens  for  chapel,  meeting-house,  and  public  hall.  This 
was  the  famous  "College  Hall."  Torn  down  by  the 
students  in  1790. 


Robert  Huntington  Fletcher,  '96. 


A    TABLE  147 

1770.  A  "school-house"  of  unknown  location  and 
history  built. 

1770-1771.  First  College  Hall  built.  Itwasofwood, 
two  stories  high,  with  an  attic ;  80  feet  by  32  feet.  It 
stood  in  the  south-east  corner  of  the  present  common, 
facing  east.  Contained:  student's  rooms;  the  prepara- 
tory department ;  until  1774  the  commons  department ; 
probably  a  room  for  the  Sabbath  services  of  the  church 
and  the  public  exercises;  after  awhile  the  library;  per- 
haps a  store  until  1773.    Taken  down  in  1791. 

1784-1791.  Dartmouth  Hall  built.  See  page  13. 
Has  contained  :  always  —  student's  and  recitation 
rooms:  at  times— College  library,  1791(?)-1828  in 
front  middle  room,  second  story,  now  a  part  of  "Old 
Chapel,"  1828-1840  in  whole  north  end  of  first  floor, 
unified  for  that  purpose;  1791(?)-1840  libraries  of 
Social  Friends  and  United  Fraternity,  in  south  end, 
second  floor;  till  1828,  museum  in  front  middle  room, 
third  floor,  now  a  part  of  "Old  Chapel";  1799-1811, 
Medical  department,  first  in  north-east  comer,  then  in 
w^hole  northern  end  and  south-east  comer  of  present 
"Old  Chapel";  from  1828,  "Old  Chapel."  ?-1836, 
present  North  Latin  room  was  divided  into  "Junior" 
and  "Senior"  rooms;  in  1836  it  was  unified  for  society 
hall  of  United  Fraternity  and  Social  Friends,  and  south 
end  of  first  floor,  which  they  had  occupied,  divided  into 
two  recitation  rooms.  ?  — 1868,  present  South  Greek 
room  was  divided  into  "Freshman"  and  "Sophomore" 
rooms;  in  1868  unified.  Numerous  other  changes  in 
recitation  rooms  from  time  to  time. 

1790.  First  chapel  building  erected.  See  page  13. 
Moved  away  in  1828. 


148  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

1791.  First  academy  building  for  Moor's  School 
erected  on  present  site  of  "Moor  Hall."  Was  of  two 
stories ;  rather  large,  with  a  porch  and  belfry  ( possibly 
added  later  ).  Contained :  till  1828,  Moor's  School,  then 
private  schools  unconnected  with  the  College;  1794— 
1801,  in  second  story,  printing  office.  Thoroughly  re- 
paired in  1804,    Sold  and  moved  away  about  1837. 

1807.  College  purchased  Col.  Kinsman's  house.  Built 
near  present  site  of  Rollins  Chapel  in  1791  for  Commons 
hall.  Used  as  such  1791-1793  and  1807-1815.  Used 
also  for  student's  rooms.  Apparently  destroyed  about 
1815. 

1811.  Medical  building  erected  with  funds  furnished 
bj'the  State  and  by  private  subscription.  Has  contained 
students'  rooms,  lecture  rooms,  etc.  Repaired  in  1872— 
1873.    New  dissecting  room  added,  1894. 

1828.  Wentworth  Hall  built.  Has  contained:  al- 
ways, students'  rooms;  from  1868,  North  Mathematical 
room;  from  1869,  South  Mathematical  room. 

1828.  Thornton  Hall  built.  Has  contained:  always, 
students' rooms;  1867-1892, in  north-east  corner,lower 
floor,  rooms  of  Theological  Society  and  Society  of  In- 
quiry, (since  1882,  Y.  M.  C.  A.);  1871-1892,  on  first 
floor,  rooms  of  Thayer  School;  from  1893,  recitation 
rooms. 

1830  (about).  College  obtained  part  ownership  of 
the  "College"  Church,  acquiring  right  to  use  galleries 
and  some  pews  in  body.  Church  built  1796  by  private 
subscription.  Had  no  blinds  or  arrangements  for  heat- 
ing. In  1822,  stove  introduced ;  in  1828,  radically  reno- 
vated; from  1867-1869,  repaired,  carpeted,  furnace  put 


A   TABLE  149 

in,  and  en  try- ways  on  sides  added ;  in  1877,  ten  feet 
added  to  rear,  and  organ  moved  from  rear  of  gallery 
to  position  on  left  of  pulpit,  college  purchased  many 
pews  and  rearranged  position  of  students;  in  1881, 
control  passed  formally  from  pew-owners  to  Dartmouth 
Religious  Society ;  in  1889,  twelve  feet  added  with  means 
furnished  mostl3'  by  Hon.  Hiram  Hitchcock,  who  gave  a 
new  organ. 

1833  (about).  College  purchased  Brown— formerly 
Rowley— Hall.  Built  about  1815  by  Mr.  Rowley  near 
present  site  of  Rollins  Chapel,  about  east  of  site  of 
former  commons  hall.  Contained :  stores  and  students' 
rooms;  in  second  story  a  hall  used  for  chapel  exercises 
(  and  perhaps  recitations )  by  college  during  quarrel  with 
** University,"  afterward  for  town  hall  (approached  by 
exterior  stairs),  later  for  a  dancing  hall.  Named  in 
honor  of  President  Brown.  Apparently  sold  and  repur- 
chased at  least  once.  Now  residence  of  Professor  Emer- 
son, on  North  College  street.  Sold  and  moved  away, 
in  1843. 

1837  (about).  Second  academy . building  for  Moor's 
School,  later,  Chandler  Building,  now  Moor  Hall,  erected. 
Had  a  belfry,  which  was  removed  when  Chandler  School 
thoroughly  repaired  it  in  1872.  Has  contained :  private 
schools;  a  little  later,  Moor's  School;  since  1852  the 
Chandler  School,  now  the  Scientific  department. 

1839-1840.  Reed  Hall  built.  Named  for  Mr.  William 
Reed,  of  Marblehead,  Mass.,  the  chief  donor.  Has  con- 
tained: students'  rooms,  always  on  third  floor,  and, 
since  1885,  on  second;  library  tUl  1885;  mineralogical 
collection  in  south-west  comer  first  floor  till  1871 ,  when 


150  ECHOES  FROM  DARTMOUTH 

this  was  transformed  into  recitation  room;  picture 
gallery  till  1885;  physical  laboratories  and  recitation 
rooms  on  about  half  of  first  floor  till  1885,  since  then 
on  whole  of  first  floor. 

1854.  Shattuck  Observatory  built  with  funds  given  by 
George  C.  Shattuck,  of  the  Class  of  1803. 

1866-1867.  Bissell  Hall,  the  Gymnasium,  built  with 
funds  furnished  by  George  H.  Bissell,  of  New  York,  of  the 
Class  of  1845. 

1871.  Culver  Hall  built  with  funds  furnished  by  Hon. 
David  Culver  and  wife,  and  the  state.  Belonged  to  Col- 
lege and  the  New  Hampshire  Agricultural  College  jointly 
till  1893,  when  the  College  purchased  the  whole,  the 
amount  due  to  the  Agricultural  College,  through  the 
state  ($15,000),  having  been  remitted  by  vote  of  the 
Legislature  of  1893. 

1884-1885.  Rollins  Chapel  built.  The  gift  of  Hon. 
Edward  Ashton  Rollins,  of  Philadelphia,  of  the  class  of 
1851,  in  memory  of  his  father,  Daniel  G.  Rollins;  his 
mother,  Susan  B.  Rollins,  and  his  w^ife,  Ellen  H.  Rollins. 
Memorial  windows  ol  the  deceased  Presidents  of  the  Col- 
lege have  been  placed  in  the  chancel  and  in  the  transepts. 

1884-1885.  Wilson  Hall  built.  The  gift  of  Mr.  Geo. 
F.  Wilson,  of  Providence,  under  the  suggestion  of  his 
legal  adviser,  the  Hon.  Halrey  J.  Boardman,  of  the  class 
of  1858.  This  hall  is  used  for  the  Library,  and  also 
holds  the  picture  gallery  until  such  time  as  a  separate 
building  may  be  secured. 

1885  —  1895.  Tower  built,  by  subscriptions  from  the 
College  classes.    See  page  146. 

1889  - 1893.  Mary  Hitchcock  Memorial  Hospital  built 
by  Hon.  Hiram  Hitchcock  of  Hanover. 


A    TABLE  151 

1890-1892.  Y.  M.  C.  A.  building  erected  with  funds 
raised  b}^  President  Bartlett,  in  honor  of  whom  it  was 
named  Bartlett  Hall  in  1893. 

1892.  College  purchased  Conant  Hall  from  Agricultu- 
ral College.  Built  in  1873  and  named  for  Hon.  John 
Conant,  of  Jaflfrey,  who  gave  most  of  the  money  for  it. 
Renamed  Hallgarten,  in  honor  of  Julius  Hallgarten,  of 
New  York,  a  benefactor  of  the  college. 

1892.  Thayer  School  purchased  Experiment  Station 
from  Agricultural  College.  Built  in  1888  with  funds 
given  by  the  State. 

1894.  Professor  Sanborn's  house  entirely  remodelled, 
transformed  into  dormitor3^,  and  named  Sanborn  Hall. 

1895.  Building  of  Butterfield  Museum  commenced.  A 
Museum  of  Paleontology  and  kindred  sciences  donated 
by  Dr.  Ralph  Butterfield,  of  Kansas  City,  occupying  the 
centre  of  the  new  quadrangle.    See  page  132. 

R.  H.  Fletcher,  '96. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETUHN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


